


Not That Wisely: Skyelance Drabble & Ficlet Collection

by alessandralee



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Romance, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 85
Words: 23,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2596631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandralee/pseuds/alessandralee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of the Skye/Lance Hunter drabbles I have written, mostly prompted via tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Football Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going forward, I will be posted all of my Skye/Lance drabbles here. There are 16 already posted in my first drabble collection (titled AoS Tumblr Drabble Prompts), they will not be reposted here.
> 
> Other ships I write for frequently, may receive their own collections. I will be starting another collection for gen fics and pairings I write less often.

Lance is so absorbed in the Liverpool-Manchester United match they’re attending that 20 minutes go by before he even realizes Skye isn’t watching.

She might have escaped his notice until half time if it wasn’t for her habit of talking to herself.

“Yes, that’s it. So close. Yes,” she whispers.

He turns his head away from the game.

“What are you doing?” he cocks and eyebrow.

She looks up from her phone.

“I just beat level 183 in alien candy crush,” she replies innocently.’’

“But we’re at a football match,” he states the obvious.

Skye shrugs. He doesn’t get it.

“I have to wait a half an hour between lives. I’ve been stuck on this level for weeks.”

He shoots her an exasperated look and sighs deeply before turning his attention back to the game.

Skye smirks. Getting him riled up like this is more fun that a soccer game or alien candy crush.

 

——

At the half, Skye gets up to stretch her legs. She comes back with a red and black scarf tied around her neck.

“No,” is all he says when he sees it.

“What? I got cold,” she shrugs.

“It’s August,” he snaps.

“August in England,” she corrects.

“Take it off,” Lance practically begs.

“No way. It matches my outfit.”

She’s wearing her standard all black, even on their afternoon off.

When she sits down next to him, he averts his eyes and does his best act like he doesn’t know her.

Skye can’t let him get away with that.

She unloops end of her scarf and leans up against him, her head resting against the sleeve his Liverpool t-shirt. Then she throws half of the scarf over his shoulder, so it encircles them both.

He scowls and swats it away.

She does it again.

After the fourth time, he stops fighting it.

This game is turning out to be a lot more enjoyable that Skye had originally thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 3rd, 2014


	2. First Safe House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "first time they get holed up in a safe-house together, waiting for an extraction"

The first thing they do upon entering the safe house is methodically sweep it for intruders.

Immediately after that, Lance pulls two beers out of the fridge.

“Pass,” Skye rejects the one he holds out to her.

“You sure?” he asks, pulling open drawers in an attempt to find a bottle opener.

“I’d rather not be caught drunk when our extraction arrives.”

 

She doesn’t mean it to sound condescending; it’s just that she’s never had to wait for an extraction like this. She’s only done a few missions without May as backup, and all of them were quick in and quick out jobs.

She’s nervous.

“Skye, it’s one beer. I’ve seen you drink Fitz under the table. And besides, it’s going to be hours before anyone gets here. I personally plan on taking a nice nap when I’m done drinking.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Skye’s annoyance rises at the thought of spending hours trapped in this Lyon apartment safe house, only for him to sleep through their extraction.

“You’re pacing and you’ve already checked twice to make sure your comms are working.”

He’s much easier to deal with when he’s in his lazy slacker mode. This version of Lance Hunter is too observant for her liking.

“Skye,” he tries again, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “we’re going to be here for a while. If you don’t want a drink that’s fine, but please sit down and relax or the waiting will take more out of you than the mission.”

Skye definitely prefers lazy slacker Lance.

“I’m feeling tired just watching you,” he reverts to his usual goading tone.

“I think that’s the booze,” she counters.

Still, she grabs the bottle of beer and sits down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 4th, 2014


	3. First Date

“Really,” Lance says, appearing in her doorway without so much as a knock, “all first dates should involve knife-fights. It really eases the awkwardness.:

She rolls her eyes and continues to unbutton her shirt, as if she doesn’t see the way he’s ogling her. So what if it’s only the first date, they’re already doing things backwards.

“I think I would have enjoyed the fight more if it hadn’t ruined one of my favorite shirts.”

She slides the offending garment off her shoulders and tosses it into the garbage can. Simmons has patched up some of her clothes before, but Skye doubts she can save this.

Really, she should have known something was suspicious from the moment Lance told her the pub would be “quaint” and “low-key.” Of course he neglected to mention the part where the owner was a retired hit man with a grudge against him. At least she now has practical experience with using a broken beer bottle as a weapon. That’ll probably come in handy sooner or later.

“You know,” he steps into the room and shuts the door behind him, “that shirt looked really good on you and all, but it looks so much better—“

“torn to shreds and sitting in the trash because you nearly got us killed?” she cuts him off. “Nice try, but I’m not having sex with you on the first date, not one that ended like that anyway.”

“But before the first date is completely fine, then?” he says with a chuckle.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

The next thing he knows, she has him pinned against the door and her lips have found the sweet spot on his collarbone.

Some rules are meant to be broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 4th, 2014


	4. Cat Person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "accidentally take in a pet that views them as parents." It doesn't hit the prompt exactly.

Whatever complaints Skye has about Lance Hunter on his down time (talks too much, lazy, drinks the orange juice she clearly labeled with her name), she can’t deny that he does his job well.

So when he’s ten minutes late to their rendezvous point she’s a bit concerned.

“And problems?” she asks when he arrives looking completely exasperated.

“That.”

He’s pointing down towards his feet, so Skye first assumes that he twisted an ankle or something. But upon closer inspection, Skye sees there’s a tiny black kitten standing just behind his right foot. It blends in with his tac gear.

“Aw, you made a friend,” she teases.

“That ‘friend’ followed me up a ten story building and climbed on my head while I was taking the shot. She nearly cost you your life,” the annoyance in his voice matches the look on his face.

Regardless, Skye can’t help but be amused by the mental picture of Lance, hiding out on the roof of some building, lining up the shot with a tiny kitten crawling all over him. She wishes she’d been there to see it first-hand.

“So it’s a girl?” she asks.

He sighs.

“I tried to shake her, which is why I’m late. As you can see, it didn’t work. Clearly, she has to be a woman.”

Skye bends down to pick up the kitten and check, but she shrinks against Lance’s heel and arches her back. Skye tries again, slowly inching her outstretched hand towards the kittle. Eventually curiosity must win out, because the cat allows Skye to pick her up and examine her.

Lance is right; it’s female.

“What are we going to call you, baby girl?” she coos.

“Don’t name it,” Hunter whines. “You’ll only be upset when we have to leave it behind.”

“Who said anything about leaving it behind?” she lets her words hang.

“Of course we have to leave it behind. You can’t just hide it in your room and hope no one notices.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of taking her back with us and introducing her to Coulson. No one can say no to this face.”

She turns the cat around in her arms to face Lance, and together they look at him with nearly identical pouts.

He sighs.

“Good luck with that.”

The truth is, Skye and Jemma have been looking into the benefits of animal therapy for Fitz. Coulson rejected their monkey idea and Jemma insists that Fitz is not a dog person. A cat just might be the perfect solution. Besides, it’s not like Coulson’s going to make her fly all the way back here to return her.

A black SUV pulls up in front of them and a dark window rolls down to reveal Trip.

“New friend?” he asks and Hunter wordlessly heads around to the trunk to pack away his equipment.

“I’m bringing her home with us,” Skye says. “Her name is Huntress.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Skye sees Hunter’s face peek out from behind the SUV. He looks annoyed again.

“Absolutely not,” he insists.

Skye ignores him and opens the passenger door, settling Huntress in on her lap once she sits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 6th, 2014


	5. Meet at a Wedding AU

“Where exactly have you been?” Jemma calls out from the kitchen when Skye returns to their apartment.

She’s still wearing the dress she wore the wedding last night, so it’s not like she can make up some early morning yoga class and a bunch of errands.

“Met a guy,” she replies, checking her reflection in the mirror.

It doesn’t look bad, considering it’s left over from yesterday.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Jemma pops her head out of the kitchen. 

“We slept in,” Skye says as she kicks off her painfully high heels, “and then we decided to go another round. You were right, morning sex is a great way to wake up.”

Jemma smirks.

“It’s not morning sex when the clock says PM.”

 

“Close enough,” Skye shrugs. “Maybe next time we’ll wake up early enough.”

“Next time?” Jemma asks.

“I’m letting him buy me dinner on Wednesday. If all goes well, I won’t see you until after you get off work Thursday.”

“I do love having the place to myself,” Jemma teases. “So what’s this guy’s name?”

“Lance. He was one of the guests on Bobbi’s side, I think. And he’s one of yours.”

“One of mine?” Jemma’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean.

“He’s English. Although I have to say, I find his accent a lot sexier than yours.”

“Clearly.”

“And his arms,” Skye exclaims, “they’re out of this world. Not that the sex wasn’t fantastic, but I would have gotten plenty of enjoyment from just staring at his arms all night. He’s got that whole 5 o’clock shadow gone rogue scruff thing going on, which I’m not usually a fan of, but he makes it work. He’s not as tall as the guys I usually go after, but as long as he doesn’t object to me being a few inches taller than him on occasion, I think I can live with that.”

It’s surprising that she’s managed to get so many words out without Jemma interrupting to tease her. Just her comments about his arms should have given her plenty of material.

“Skye,” Jemma sounds a bit panicked, “what’s his last name?”

Skye thinks for a moment, then blushes.

“I… uh… don’t exactly remember. He definitely told me it but, like I said, I was kind of distracted by his arms. You know how I get about guys in dress-shirts with the sleeves rolled up.”

“Wait here,” Jemma calls, a bit distracted, as she walks towards her bedroom.

She returns with her laptop and wastes no time sitting down on the couch and logging into Facebook. Skye sits down next to her and peers at the screen as Jemma types “Lance Hunter” into the search bar.

The first photo is of a familiar face.

“Is this him?” Jemma turns the screen towards Skye after she’s click on the profile.

He’s wearing a red t-shirt with the word Liverpool stamped across the front of it. There’s a small black cat perched on his should, and Skye things she can make out half of their friend Mack’s face on the back corner of the photo.

“Yes,” Skye gives Jemma an inquisitive look. She’s not sure where her friend is going with this.

“Skye, I don’t know how to tell you this,” Jemma starts out solemnly before dissolving into a fit of giggles that she can barely speak through, “but you had sex with Bobbi’s ex-husband.”

It takes Skye a minute to figure out who she’s referring to.

“Bobbi whose wedding we went to last night?”

Jemma nods to confirm.

Skye didn’t even know Bobbi had an ex-husband.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 7th, 2014


	6. Small Accidents

Skye’s so focused on her shooting practice that she doesn’t notice the approaching footsteps. In fact, when Jemma raps on the wall to signal her presence, Skye actually jumps.

Fortunately, May’s drilled it into her that her finger should only be on the trigger when she’s actually shooting.

“What’s up?” Skye asks, when she’s taken a moment to unload the gun and remove her protective earmuffs.

Jemma’s speaks at a mile a minute.

“I have dozens of samples to run and he’s all bandaged up, so I’m putting you in charge of him for the rest of the night.”

“Putting me in charge of who?”

As far as Skye knows, Bobbi’s the only one out on a mission right now, and she’s not a ‘he.’ Skye’s next thought is that Fitz has somehow hurt himself in the lab, but that seems unlikely.

Jemma glares over her shoulder into the hallway Skye can’t see into from her current position. A few seconds later, Hunter steps into Skye’s line of sight. He raises his left hand in a small greeting.

It’s completely wrapped in bandages, from his wrist up. It reminds Skye of Mickey Mouse’s gloves, only without individual fingers. Her eyes check his other hand and, sure enough, it’s similarly wrapped.

“What did you do?” she asks him, before turning to Jemma. “I didn’t even know he was on assignment.”

“He wasn’t,” Jemma clarifies. “Those are grease burns; he was cooking. I really need to get back to the lab.”

She takes a few steps down the hall, before turning back and dropping a pill bottle into Skye’s hands.

“He can take one every four hours. Don’t let him talk you into giving him more than that. They’re strong.”

And then she’s gone.

Skye turns to Hunter.

“How is it that you’ve only been hurt on a mission once, yet cooking gives you a serious injury?”

“Operation Stir-Fry,” he jokes weakly.

“Grease burns? Seriously?”

Part of Skye wants to laugh, because he looks pretty pathetic with his giant white cartoon-character hands. But she refrains, because he actually looks pretty miserable.

He sighs.

“I don’t even have an excuse, really. I’ve made chicken stir-fry plenty of times. I was just… dumb.”

Skye snorts. For someone who’s supposed to be so highly trained, he does a lot of dumb things.

“You know Coulson’s going to—“

“Kill me? Yeah. Simmons mentioned that after she told me I wouldn’t be able to hold a gun for at least two weeks.”

So he’s out of commission for two weeks. That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world; they do have four other field agents. But for all that he prides himself on being lazy, Lance Hunter is a pain in the ass when he doesn’t have anything to do. He’s going to make them all just as miserable as he is for the next two weeks.

And that misery will probably start now, if she lets it.

She won’t.

“Well, if you’re just going to stand there and mope, the least you can do is critique my shots.”

He’s kind of obnoxious when it comes to giving shooting advice, so Skye is prepared for this to be painful. At least asshole Hunter is better than the sad little boy he looks like right now.

It turns out his comments are pretty subdued, probably because he’s still dealing with embarrassment of needing Skye to put on his earmuffs for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 10th, 2014


	7. Childish Antics

"I only have one more thing to add-" started Skye, cutting off to stick out her tongue as groans of protest started up around the table.

"You’re goading him," Mack mutters under his breath.

"And now we’re all going to have to put up with it," Trip adds

Fitz nods in agreement and Jemma’s halfway out of her seat, looking for an excuse to leave the room.

"I will have you know," Hunter starts, "that I am not going to rise to such childish antics."

Jemma breathes a sigh of relief and sits back down.

"But I were to I would tell you that it was a perfectly good idea and if you had just stuck to the plan rather than making your terrible attempt and improvising, we would have been in and out, lickety-split."

Once again, everyone at the table groans.

"If I hadn’t improvised," Skye argues, "your plan would have gotten us all captured. If you thought we were going to be able to just sneak in there, then you’re even more ridiculous than I thought. And I thought you were completely ridiculous."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 10th, 2014


	8. Private Detective AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Private Detective AU

When Lance made the decision to transition into private detective work, he had romantic notions of the kind of work he’d be doing. He’d pictured more stolen jewels and female clients with legs that went on for days. What he usually got were cheating husbands whose mistresses ended up calling the cops on the man parked outside their apartments.

Life is not a noir film.

So when an actual murder case, dismissed as an accident by the local police, turned up on his doorstep he couldn’t say no. And maybe his client didn’t have the legs he’d imagined, but her face was certainly easy on the eyes.

If only didn’t seem to do his job better than he did.

He’d been about to leave his office to check up on a tip off about the chief of police accepting bribes from a local politician, when Skye entered his office.

In her hand was a digital camera. And on that digital camera were photos of Chief Garrett meeting by the docks with a man Lance knew to be Senator Whitehall’s personal assistant.

It was damning evidence, and he was more than a little bit disappointed to know he wasn’t the one who got it.

But it certainly wasn’t enough to convict either man for murder.

But Skye had a plan for that.

“I need you to help me break in to Garret’s office,” she told him.

There were so many ways it could go wrong, but he was finding that, much like the detectives in his beloved noir films, it was impossible to say no to a lady in distress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 17, 2014


	9. Support Group AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of death of minor character

Normally, Skye hates it when people cut her off in the middle of a sentence. Jemma always gets a look of horror on her face when someone does it, because she knows Skye’s about to go off on the person.

Today, though, she doesn’t really mind.

It took a huge amount of prodding for Jemma and Fitz to talk her into a grieving support group. As far as Skye’s concerned, she doesn’t belong. She’d only found her father a couple of months before he was gone.

She shouldn’t really have anything to mourn.

She’s trying to explain this to the group, the guilt she feels for not finding him sooner, the loss she feels for never really knowing him.

“I can think of a few people I’d rather not know,” a guy chimes in. He’s got an overgrown five o’clock shadow and an English accent

The group groans half-heartedly at his comment, as if it’s something they’re used to. Then they move on to next person.

He might be a loudmouth, and in most circumstances she’d find him rude, but right now Skye’s just thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 18th, 2014


	10. Movie Night AU

When Skye’s feet land in his lap, all Lance can do is glare at her. It’s bad enough that she’s hoarding the popcorn on her side of the couch, but they haven’t even hit paly and she’s already got her smelly feet in his lap.

Okay, her feet don’t actually smell. In fact, she’s just showered changed in to her pajamas. But that doesn’t mean her wants her frog sock-clad feet in his lap.

So he pushes them off.

And she puts them right back in his lap.

“Lance,” she whines.

“Skye,” he whines back.

“I’ve been on my feet all day. Coulson even had me crawl into the ductwork to check some cables. My back is killing me.”

“Fine,” he relents, “but only if I get the popcorn bowl.”

They compromise. Skye moves around so her head is now resting in his lap, her body wrapped in a blanket like a cocoon, and the bowl of popcorn sits on her stomach. This way she can stretch out and he can reach the popcorn and they’re both happy.

Or as happy as he could possibly be while watching a zombie slasher film. Sometimes Lance wishes Skye was more into romantic comedies, but apparently those are for watching with Jemma. Girl bonding or some shit.

They’re halfway through the movie when he notices Skye’s light snoring. Apparently she’s had a hard enough day at work that she can sleep through screaming zombie hordes.

Lance stretches to reach for the remote; he’s certainly not watching this if he doesn’t have to. It’s only once he turns the tv off that he realizes he’s stuck with a sleeping woman in his lap.

He considers trying to slide out from underneath her, but that would probably just wake her up.

Instead, he does his best to make himself comfortable, glad he grabbed a blanket of his own before he sat down. The lamp is within his reach so he manages to turn that off. With his legs propped up on the coffee table and head lolling to one side, he thinks he can spend the rest of the night like this.

When he wakes up the next morning with a stiff neck, Skye almost wishes he woke her up last night. What’s a few hours of lost sleep compared to a cranky boyfriend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written November 20th, 2014


	11. Fighting & Decorating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Domestic AU Meme

In the grand scheme of things, Lance has to consider what’s worse: going home now to an incredibly pissed off Skye, or not going home and dealing with an even more pissed off Skye tomorrow.

There’s a very large part of him that is considering option number three: continue to hide out at Idaho’s couch until Skye’s cooled down. But that could take weeks.

So he goes home. They’d agreed to put up the Christmas decorations today, and he’d rather not make Skye angrier than she already is.

He slips his key into the lock on the front door, grateful when he turns it and he heard the lock click (he doesn’t think Skye would just change the locks on him, but it happened once in a past relationship and he’d like to avoid reliving the experience).

When his entrance into the foyer is met with silence rather than screaming, Lance cautiously makes his way to the kitchen, where he can hear the clanking of cups.

Skye is kneeling on the kitchen counter, pulling all of their mugs out of the cupboard. The dishwasher is open and the top drawer, full of red and green mugs, is pulled out.

“Why don’t you let me take care of the mugs,” he suggests, voice as quiet and soothing as he can manage.

She looks over her shoulder and glares at him.

“You know what? You’re doing an excellent job, why don’t you keep at it? I’ll unload this box,” he points to the box sitting on the kitchen table with the words ‘XMAS KITCHEN’ printed on it.

Maybe he’s a coward, but that women can be scary when she wants to be. It’s usually one of the things he likes most about her.

They work in silence, despite only being feet from each other. Lance swaps their usual napkin holder for a reindeer themed one, and sets out a snowman cookie jar they never actually fill with cookies. 

He’s halfway through taking the expensive Courrier and Ives plates Skye’s father gave her out their newspaper wrapping, when Skye’s silence really starts to get to him. She’s always been much better at the whole silent warfare thing than he is.

He drops the next plate on top of the pile on the kitchen table with a bit too much force. It makes a loud clanging noise, and Skye jumps off the kitchen counter to make sure he hasn’t broken it.

He hasn’t.

“Skye,” he uses his comforting voice again, mixed with some pleading for good measure, “I’m sorry.”

She crosses her arms and looks at him expectantly. Clearly she’s going to need more than just the word sorry.

“I didn’t mean what I said about your father. It’s just that you sort of sprung his visit on me, and we both know he hates me.”

She sighs, “He doesn’t hate you.”

“He certainly thinks you can do better,” he counters.

“Of course he does,” Skye says, coming closer and placing a hand on his cheek. “There’s not a man in the world he thinks is good enough for me. Trust me, he likes you more than most.”

Lance smiles, feeling better about Mr. Coulson’s upcoming visit.

He thinks of the small box, currently folded up in his one pair of dress socks, where Skye will never accidentally find it. He was planning on giving it to her this Christmas, but with her father visiting, maybe he should wait until New Years.


	12. Orange Juice

He’s a concerned friend, he tells himself. Hell, he’s not even a concerned friend, really. He’s a roommate who’s concerned that he’ll have to share space with the kind of guy who ironically wears argyle sweaters.

Skye can do much better than ironic argyle sweaters.

~~Like t-shirts and henleys and well-battered leather jackets.~~

So really, when he glares at this guy taking up space in his kitchen, he’s only looking out for himself.

“Lance, this is Tim,” Skye says as she appears in black leggings and an oversize gray v-neck (which she totally stole from him. Take that, ironic argyle sweater Tim).

“Tom,” the guy corrects, clearly looking putout.

Lance feels a little bit better about his presence.

“Tom,” Skye repeats, “was just leaving.”

Technically, he’s in the middle of drinking a glass of orange juice (from a carton clearly labeled LANCE HUNTER’S OJ—DO NOT TOUCH).

But then Skye shoots him a look and he abandons his glass.

“What’d you scare him off for?” Lance asks, when the door shuts behind Tom. “I was bonding with your new boyfriend.”

“He’s not my new boyfriend,” Skye insists.

“Do you think he’ll be stopping by again any time soon?” Lance teases.

“Definitely not.”

Lance is completely okay with that.


	13. Blood

“Really, I’m fine,” Lance insists, although the fact that he’s tried and failed to get up three times indicates otherwise.

Skye wraps an arm under her shoulder and around his back and hauls him to his feet, ignoring the steady stream of curse words he lets out as she does so. She can feel him lose his balance for a second, and she holds him upright until he regains it.

Thankfully, they’re not far from the Bus, Jemma will be able to take care of his injuries.

Skye exchanges her GPS for her gun, and slowly guides them both back to the plane. Lance doesn’t make any snide remarks on the way, which is how Skye knows his injuries are serious. Well, that and the blood soaking through his white t-shirt. The fact that she’s been awake for 36 hours must be getting to her, because she’s unnecessarily preoccupied by the question of why someone who gets shot at and beaten bloody so often wears so much white.

She’s pulling him up the cargo ramp, when he speaks for the first time since she dragged him to his feet.

“Could we not mention this to anyone?” he asks.

She’s not sure what he’s referring to exactly, how much help he needed getting here, or the fact that, before he got shot, they’d been in the middle of a heated makeout session (in what should have been a deserted part of the jungle).

Either way, Skye’s more than happy to keep quiet about it.


	14. Tears

“Not a good time,” Lance yells when Skye knocks on the door to his bunk.

He doesn’t hear her footsteps go back down the hall.

“It hasn’t been a good time all day,” she remarks. Her voice is even, she’s very clearly trying not to sound pitying.

He appreciates the effort, but that doesn’t mean he has anything else to say. He just wants to be by himself.

“We all know what day it is,” she adds.

 

“Then you know why I want to be alone,” he tells her.

“So you can wallow,” she responds. “Well can you at least let me in, so you can wallow with the food I brought.”

The moment she mentions food, his stomach growls. He skipped breakfast this morning, and it’s well after lunchtime.

“You do realize that I know the code to your room,” she says. Her voice isn’t even now, it’s just annoyed. It’s still better than her feeling sorry for him.

There’s no way she knows his code. It’s just a bunch of random numbers.

“Four five three six.”

Or maybe she does know the code to his room.

He forces himself out of bed and opens the door. At least he can spare himself the indignity of her barging into his room to find him still in bed. Not that she hasn’t probably already figured that out.

His eyes are red, and she can tell he’s been crying, but Skye doesn’t say anything. She just walks past him and sets the tray down on the bed he just vacated. Then she sits next to it.

“Do you want to talk?” she asks. She’s almost back to the emotionless tone, but he can detect a trace amount of hope.

If only he could think of something to say besides fuck everything.

He just sits next to her, on the side not taken by the tray of food he’s pretty sure Simmons actually made.

A part of him recognizes the fact that it’s a nice gesture from his teammates, but he’s just too exhausted to care.

Tentatively, Skye wraps her left arm around his shoulders and pulls him in a little. He slumps against her.

It’s a small comfort, but the only on he’s willing to take today.

“One year,” he mutters.

“I know,” she says. Every word out of her mouth is careful, like she knows she could set him off at any moment and doesn’t want to.

“They’re dead.”

He knows she knows that too, but she doesn’t say anything. She just sits there, with her arm around him until he pulls himself together enough to eat the food she brought.


	15. Drowning

“What were you thinking?” he asks as soon as they’re alone. He’s not yelling, because anyone nearby could overhear them, but the sharpness of his whispering makes it clear that he wants to.

Skye just rolls her eyes. She’s spent two hours treading water in the Atlantic Ocean and as much as she wants a hot shower, she’s not sure she could keep her eyes open for one. She definitely doesn’t have any time for whatever hissy fit Lance is about to throw.

She ignores him, pulling off her damp clothing and digging pajamas out of her small dresser.

“You could have drowned,” he’s really not understanding how tired Skye is right now.

But I didn’t. In fact, I took out the target you couldn’t get a lock on. So I think I’ve earned a good night’s sleep,” she punctuates her statement with a loud yawn as she pulls her sweatshirt over her head.

She’s so tired, she ends up aiming her head for an armhole, and has to yank on the shirt to get her head where it’s supposed to be.

Her eyes have just popped out of the gray material when Lance grabs her and pulls her close. She can’t hug him back, her arms are still stuck in the sweatshirt.

“You could have drowned,” he repeats, and this time Skye clues in to the fact that he’s not really angry, he’s terrified.

“But I didn’t,” she says again, but softer, leaning her head against him.


	16. Last Christmas

“I spiked it,” Jemma says as she pushes a glass of eggnog into Skye’s hand before sitting next to her.

“I thought it was already spiked,” Skye replies.

“Exactly,” Jemma raises her eyebrows in emphasis. “Liquid courage.”

“And what exactly do I need liquid courage for?” Skye asks.

“So you’ll stop staring at Lance and actually go to talk to him.”

Skye takes a sip of her drink. It’s strong and it burns going down, but it’s definitely not enough to get her to cross the room and talk to him.

“What would I even say? I know we haven’t spoken in the ten months since we broke up, but how was that trip to Istanbul I only know you went on because I’ve been stalking all your social media?” Skye takes another, larger gulp of her eggnog.

“I probably wouldn’t open with that, but anything’s better than just sitting here pining over him,” Jemma rolls her eyes.

Skye is not pining.

Okay, she’s totally pining. She’s been pining over him for basically the last nine months. Only now they’re actually in the same room, so she can’t hide it as well.

But Jemma doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m not pining,” Skye protests half-heartedly.

“Well you’re certainly ogling him. And he’s caught you doing at least twice, by the way,” Jemma doesn’t make eye contact as she says the last part, but she does smile smugly.

Shit.

As much as she knows that she totally hasn’t moved on, Skye would at least like to make everyone believe she’s moved on, especially Lance. She feels pathetic enough as it is.

“I’m not pining, I’m not ogling, I’m just… reminiscing,” Skye tells her.

“About what?”

“Last year’s Christmas party.”

“Isn’t that when Fitz caught you two making out in the coat closet like you were fifteen?”

“It was nice,” Skye says. “Then we sat in a corner and spent the whole night talking over eggnog, which did not go to my head anywhere near as fast as this glass did. What the hell did you put in it?”

“Rum, lots of rum.” Jemma takes a sip of her own glass, which she’s barely touched at this point.

Skye sighs. It tastes like cheap rum, too.

They sit in companionable silence while Skye continues to drink and reminisce. She doesn’t share anything else with Jemma, she doesn’t need her friend to know exactly how hung up she is on Lance. She’d like to hold onto what little remains of her dignity.

She’s almost done with her drink when Jemma says, “I think he’s coming over here.”

Skye’s eyes shift to where she last saw Lance, talking to Trip on the other side of the room. Sure enough, Trip is now talking to Fitz and Mack, and Lance is no longer there. She scans the room and it only takes a moment for her to find him. He’s definitely headed over here.

“What the hell do I say?” she whispers to Jemma.

“Just be polite. Ask him how he’s been,” Jemma shrugs. “Maybe don’t mention the internet stalking.”

Like she needed to be reminded.

“Good evening, ladies,” Lance greets them.

She’d almost forgotten how sexy his accent is.

“Hello, Lance,” Jemma responds.

Skye just smiles at him. She’s too panicked to string words together.

“How have you been Jemma?” Lance asks.

Skye ignores the tiny part of her that’s jealous he’s chosen to focus on Jemma rather than her. It’s not like that’s going anywhere, Jemma’s not interested, and Lance isn’t that much of a jackass.

“Wonderful,” Jemma responds, tipping back her half-full drink and downing it in one go. She must have put way more rum in Skye’s. “If you’ll excuse me, I need a refill.”

Skye’s jaw drops involuntarily. Jemma’s leaving her, as if she wasn’t nervous enough with her right there. This is going to be a disaster.

Skye glares at her retreating back before gathering her courage and looking up at Lance.

“So, how’s life?”

She’ll make it through this if it kills her.


	17. Teacher/Single Parent AU

Skye has a type, and that type generally doesn’t include elementary school teachers in khakis and loafers.

Except right now it totally does.

Under most circumstances, that would be great, especially since her father agreed to watch Ethan for the rest of the night. It’s been a while since Skye has had certain needs met, and this guy looks like he could definitely do the trick.

Except this guy is also her son’s first grade teacher. And they’re about to start their parent teacher conference. If there’s higher power, Skye’s pretty sure he’s fucking with her, because in any other situation she would be all over that, khakis be damned.

But really, this is unfair.

Mr. Hunter should not look like he stepped out of one of Skye’s sex fantasies. Sure, he looks like he then stepped into one of her father’s son-in-law fantasies, but that almost makes it better.

If she wasn’t already freaking out, the fact that she’s pleased a guy she’s into would meet her father’s approval would certainly do the trick.

His scruffy beard and the tattoo peaking out from the cuff of his shirt make him look like the kind of guy who owns a beat up leather jacket and rides a motorcycle. And really she should totally ignore that, because her attraction to guys with leather jackets and motorcycles is exactly how she ended up here, raising a six year old by herself.

Not that she’s anything less than thrilled with how her life turned out. And she’s certainly now upset that her ex is no longer in the picture. Wherever the hell he is (and Skye couldn’t even guess at the country), they’re better off with him there. They’re happy.

She’d just like a man in her life that doesn’t need help tying his shoes.

Not that Mr. Hunter would ever be an appropriate candidate to fill that spot.

But as she sits down in the child-size chair across from his desk, Skye can’t help but imagine.


	18. Online

Who browses tumblr in the middle of a crowded lecture hall?

The guy who keeps sitting in front of Skye, that’s who. She doesn’t know much about him except that, while she’s trying to copy down Dr. May’s PowerPoint notes as quickly as she can, this guy’s looking at travel photos and surfing and muscle cars.

She didn’t even know people used tumblr to post about cars.

Whatever, it’s distracting. Every now and then a cat video comes up on his screen and Skye can’t tear her eyes away. 

Pretty soon Jemma’s going to stop letting her copy the notes she missed.

It could be worse, though. He could be following porn blogs.

It goes on for weeks. Skye misses half a lecture because he plays a compilation video of cats being forced to take baths (it’s hard to hold in her laughter and he almost catches her watching him a few times).

She needs to do something about it. She doesn’t want to take World Civ twice; that would just be ridiculous.

It takes her a full class to figure out the url of his blog, but she does (it requires wearing the glasses she hates, but that’s a sacrifice she’s willing to make in the name of not failing a class during her first semester of college).

Hunterrrr.

Four Rs. Hunterrrr. She draws it out when she tells Jemma about it, but Jemma just laughs and tells her she’s obsessed with the guy.

She’s not. She couldn’t be into a guy who uses tumblr to post muscle car photos.

The cat videos are nice, but everyone love cat videos. He does have excellent taste in travel destinations, though. She’ll give him that much.

The next class, she messages him (anonymously, of course) and watches as the the little red 1 appears on his dashboard.

_Nice blog. It’s a shame you’re missing out on a great World Civ lecture, though._

Slowly, he turns around until they make eye contact. She waves.

He cocks an eyebrow at her, then turns back to his computer and opens a word document.

_See something you like?_

He types in large, bold letters.

_The cat videos are nice. Not crazy about the cars._

His reply is simple.

_STALKER_

She doesn’t know what comes over her, but she finds herself typing, _It’s Skye, actually._

_No last name?_

She rolls her eyes and replies, _No last name._

He’s waiting at the end of her row when class lets out.

“So, Skye no last name, how long have you been creeping on me in the middle of class?” he asks.

He’s British. It’s hot. She’s weak.

She shoots him her most flirtatious smile, “A while. Wanna talk dream travel plans over coffee?”

Six months later, they’re backpacking through Europe, trying to find the exact spots where some of their favorite travel photos were taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know this when I was writing, but hunterrrr.tumblr.com actually does exist and it makes a nice addition to the reading experience.


	19. Single Parent/Nanny AU

Lance Hunter sits in his home office, trying to work (but failing).

It would almost be easier with his three-year-old daughter, Isabelle, underfoot. But she’s at the park with the new nanny, Skye, where she is probably breaking one of the few rules Lance has.

He likes to think he’s an easygoing parent. He lets Izzy pick out her own clothes (although Skye has already voiced her objections to letting her leave the house in red and white striped tights and a backwards pink floral dress). He doesn’t push too hard on the broccoli issue. And he’s been pretty damn indulgent when it comes to toys (seriously, Izzy’s doll collections is pretty impressive).

But of course, it’s his ‘not boys allowed’ policy that Skye refuses to abide by.

Three-year-old boys are jerks. He knows this, he was one once. They pull hair and call names and push too hard. And that’s all before puberty hits.

He’d just like to spare Izzy the pain.

Not that it matters, because right now Skye’s probably encouraging Izzy to play with every bloody boy on the playground.

Lance hears the front door shut. They’re home early, probably because some stupid boy did some stupid thing and Izzy scraped her knees or banger her head and Skye forgot to pack Band-Aids and antibacterial ointment.

Except there are way too many voices for it to be just Skye and Izzy. He thinks he can detect one English accent (female) and at least one little boy voice.

He’s about to leave his office and investigate when Skye opens the door. As usual, she doesn’t knock first.

“Hey, it started raining, so we invited two of Izzy’s new friends back to the house. Their mother’s here too, so between the two of us we’ll be able to keep them out of your hair,” she explains. “Also, do you have any tea?”

“It’s in the cabinet with the spices,” he answers her question, “and the electric kettle’s in the cabinet under the kitchen table. These new friends of Izzy’s wouldn’t happen to be boys, would they?”

Skye grins smugly, “Identical twin boys.”

“Didn’t I explicitly tell you how I feel about Izzy playing with boys, especially ones I haven’t thoroughly vetted?” he asks her, visibly annoyed.

She shrugs, “Didn’t I explicitly tell you that was a dumb rule that benefits no one but yourself and that I plan on ignoring it?” She did, in face, say that. “Besides, they’re playing with dolls. No one’s going to get hurt.”

She leaves the room and closes the door before he can protest further.

And hour later, after getting virtually no work done and deciding he really should have gone into the office, Lance decides it’s time for a lunch break. The fact that the kitchen opens directly into his currently full living room has nothing to do with this decision.

“Stop,” he hears Izzy yell before he can see her. He picks up the pace; he knew he was right when he said these boys would be trouble.

When he enters the room Izzy is pulling a suit-wearing doll out a little boy’s hand. The other little boy is asleep on the couch between Skye and a woman Lance assumes is his mother.

“Melinda doesn’t need Phil’s help,” Izzy tells the boy firmly. “He can wait in the boat.”

The boy nods obediently and deposits Phil in the shoebox that must be acting as a boat today.

Maybe playing with boys isn’t such a terrible thing. Izzy seems to be holding her own quite nicely. Maybe Skye isn’t just a pretty face and an extra set of hands.

Lance turns into the kitchen and starts rummaging through the drawers to find something to eat. Skye joins him a few minutes later.

“I’m making everyone grilled cheeses, do you want one?” she asks.

“Did you see that?” he ignores her question. “My baby’s going to be president one day, I can see it now. Or a CEO, maybe.”


	20. Childproofing

"Rrgh. I dunno. Could we just sand down all of the sharp corners? Would that be possible?" 

Skye surveys the kitchen and the living room.

"That would take at least a week, and it still wouldn’t stop him from climbing on things," she says with a sigh.

"Plastic bubble?" Lance suggests.

Skye laughs as the mental image of their two-year old safely contained in a plastic bubble.

"He’d pee all over it," she says. Potty training hasn’t been going so well.

"But it would probably stop him from whipping it out and peeing on the walls," her husband points out.

"A trick I’m sure he learned from you," Skye rolls her eyes.

"That was on time, and only because the line for the bathroom was ridiculous. It was either pee in a corner of the backyard or wet myself in the middle off the hallway. How was I supposed to know he’d go all ‘monkey see, monkey do’ on us?"

Skye was familiar with the term “terrible twos,” but she hadn’t expected them to be this bad. Only six more months until he turned three, though, hopefully he’d outgrow it by then. Or they’d at least be able to escape for a few hours while he was at pre-school.


	21. All Grown Up

"They just grow up so fast."

"Dad, you really need to chill," Izzy replies, hefting a laundry basket full of blankets and towels out of the trunk.

"And you sound just like your mother."

Izzy and Skye, the mother in question, roll their eyes simultaneously.

"Don’t," Skye warns him as soon as she realizes what they’ve done. "If you embarrass her any further, she won’t come home for Thanksgiving."

"Sorry," Lance feigns offense, "but my little baby is all grown up and going off to college."

Izzy had spent months begging him to stop calling it uni.

Now she turns red, double checking the parking lot to make sure her new roommate wasn’t in the vicinity.

"I know, I know," Skye pats her husband on the back. "It seems like just yesterday she was dressing up in my old clothes and saying she was practicing her spying," her tone is teasing, but it’s hard to tell who she’s aiming for, her husband or her daughter.

"Mother, I swear if you tell anyone that story…" Izzy whines.

"Now you sound like your father."

"I knew we should have brought the baby photos," Lance snaps his fingers in pretend regret.

"Now I’m not coming home for Christmas either," Izzy shifts the basket against her hip and stomps off toward the entrance to the dorms.

"How do you reckon it’ll be before she calls us begging to come home for the weekend?" Lance asks once she’s out of earshot.

"I give it a month," Skye says, knowing full well the better question is ‘how long into our drive home until we have to pull over because we’re crying to hard to see."


	22. First Vacation

"Are you sure you don’t want me to drop them off myself? I don’t think you could handle seeing them off alone."

"It’s Coulson’s," Lance says, "he’s watched them before."

"At our house, for a few hours," Skye responds. "This is different."

"I think you’re worrying about nothing."

Skye’s done packing her bag by the time he gets back from dropping the kids off with Coulson.

"We’re not getting them back, are we?" he says to her.

Skye laughs.

"Skye, he has a playroom, a stack of children’s DVDs taller than me, and a kitchen full of junk food. Honestly, he could’ve taken us outside and shown us the bouncy castle he rented and it wouldn’t have surprised me."

"You’re over-exaggerating," she tells him. She knew this would happen.

"We voluntarily left our kids with Coulson and now he’s going to keep them."

"He’s not going to keep them," Skye says patiently. "They might come back spoiled rotten, but they’re going to come back."

"Maybe we should cancel our vacation," Lance suggests.

"Not a chance in hell," Skye tells him. "We haven’t had a real vacation since before the kids were born, I’m not going to cancel this one because of your ridiculous fear of Coulson kidnapping our children."

"Fine, but text him and let him know that I will fight him for them. He hasn’t been in the field in a while, I think I could take him."


	23. Matching

"I knew it was a mistake to get the twins matching clothes."

"This is why I wanted to order the Weasley sweaters," Skye sighs. "They’d be so much easier to tell apart if we labeled them S and V."

"Those sweaters were over a hundred dollars each," Lance reminds her.

"It would have been worth it to save us the embarrassment."

"Maybe if we call her name, she’ll turn around?" he suggests.

"Sophie," Skye yells. "Time for your medicine."

Two identical faces swerve towards their parents.

"They’re messing with us," Skye shakes her head in disbelief. "They’re four years old and our children are already deliberately messing with us."

"At least we know they’re mine."

Skye snorts, “They have your dimples. You might hide them under the beard, but they definitely didn’t get them from me.”

In the end it’s Izzy, now seven years old, who saves the day. She launches herself off the swing she was playing on (Lance’s heart still beats out of his chest whenever she does that) and picks up one of the girls.

"Here you go," she tells her parents. "Sophie. Violet’s the smiley one."

Lance and Skye look at each other. The smiley one?

Lance pours out antibiotics for Sophie’s ear infection while Skye fishes a hair tie out of her bag. Sophie gets pigtails to distinguish her from Violet’s single ponytail.


	24. Christmas Sex?

"Oh my god," she shrieks, "What the hell are you doing, Lance?"

"I just thought we could… you know," he winks at her and makes no movement to get off the bed.

She knows what he means. Even if he hadn’t winked, the fact that he’s lying down, butt naked on her bed makes things pretty clear.

"My dad’s going to be here in ten minutes for Christmas dinner and you thought now was the right time for sex?" she crosses her arms and glares at him.

He said he’d take this whole meeting the parent thing seriously. He promised.

And clearly, he lied.

She’s going to murder him. But not until after her father leaves. There just wouldn’t be enough time to hide the body before he arrives.

Skye grabs his sweater (the one he’d asked her opinion on last night, when he was still taking things seriously) off her desk chair and throws it at him.

"You’d better be decent by the time he gets here," she warns him before stomping out of the room and slamming the door behind him.


	25. MacGyver

The was a voice in the back of his head that sounded far too much like Skye insisting that this wasn't going to work, if anything that only made him want to do it more.

"Just get me a paper clip, some chewing gum, and a battery," he tells the actual Skye kneeling next to him on the floor.

She rolls her eyes.

"You can’t MacGyver the Christmas lights back together with that," she tells him.

It’s a perfect echo of what he imagined her saying seconds ago, so at least he can say the Skye in his head is accurate.

There’s no need to mention how much time he spends having imaginary conversations with the Skye in his head, or how many times that Skye admires the work he’s been doing in the gym or asks him to take his clothes off.

Okay, so maybe the Skye is in his head isn’t completely accurate all the time.

"You want to bet on that?" he asks her.

Skye considers his offer for a moment before responding, “It’s not worth it. Coulson will flip if he wakes up in the morning and the lights are still broken. I don’t want to see a grown man cry.”

And with that she stands up and runs off to find Fitz.

Lance still insists he could have done it.


	26. Shrunk

"Skye, I know you shrunk my shirts on purpose so just tell me why."

Skye rolls her eyes, “There’s nothing in the world that would make me do laundry I didn’t have to do.”

Not that she minds the results of his shrunken laundry. Really, those t-shirts and henleys look even better on him when they’re skin-tight.

The crop top effect is a little weird.

Still, she wouldn’t mind the opportunity to thank whoever did it.

Lance leans and against the walls and crosses her arms over his chest (Skye’s pretty sure she saw the outline of a nipple through his shirt before he did so).

"If you wanted to see me shirtless, all you had to do was ask," he tells her.

"If I wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is stop by the training room after dinner," she mutters under her breath.

And she has, many times, as quietly as possible. Until Jemma told her was getting kind of creepy.

"There’s no need to be passive aggressive about it," he continues. "I’m more than willing."

Skye wonders if this counts as him propositioning her. Not that she hasn’t thought about it, but in the middle of the lounge with Jemma reading a book a few feet away really isn’t the appropriate situation for this conversation.

"I’ll tell you what," Skye says, "if I ever wanted to go a few rounds with you, I’ll let you know."

Lance grins in satisfaction.

"But until then, don’t hold your breath," Skye finishes.

His grin drops, he sighs dramatically and stomps out of the room.

He completely fails to notice that whoever shrunk his shirts, also got to the pants he’s wearing. Skye takes a moment to appreciate the view of his retreating backside, before returning to her laptop.

"Skye," Jemma pipes up from her spot stretched out in a recliner.

"Yeah?"

"You’re welcome," Jemma grins smugly and it only takes Skye a moment to put it together.

"You didn’t."

She did.


	27. Ball Drop

"Skye sat huddled into Lance's chest as she tried to stay warm and awake, but it was just too cold and unwillingly her eyes began to droop close."

"Absolutely not," he says as he shakes her awake.

"Huh?" her eyes snap open and she looks around, confused.

"Oooooh Lance, we’re in New York City and it’s New Years Eve," he pitches his voice high in imitation of her, but doesn’t drop the English accent, "we should go join the massive crowd of people in Times Square who have nothing better to do than freeze their tails off while watching a large ball drop."

His opinion of their outing it pretty clear.

"You didn’t say no," she tells him.

"Actually, I did. At least a dozen times. You just wouldn’t take no for an answer.

She does that a lot.

Skye smiles up at him sweetly, “I mean, you can go back the hotel, if you don’t want to be my New Years kiss.”

But he’s not going to forgo that, so he just pulls her in a little closer and rests his head on top of hers.

"I can’t even see the ball from here," he complains.


	28. Noisemaker

"I swear to god, Jemma, I don’t care if he is your brother. We’re never taking him out in public again," Skye shouts over the sound of the noisemaker Lance has been blowing into for the last 30 minutes.

Jemma smiles apologetically and points across the room towards the punch table.

"Yeah, you go get punch," Skye says. "And I’ll resist the urge to punch Lance in the face," she mutters under her breath.

She’s given a brief respite from that godawful noise when Lance pulls the noisemaker out of her mouth to say, “I heard that.”

"Good," she tells him. 

He blows extra loudly in her ear after that.

She retaliates by ripping the toy out of his mouth and chucking it across the room. Lance winces when it hits Fitz in the side of the head.

"What was that for?" Lance turns to face her as Fitz looks around the room, trying to guess where the projectile came from.

Her response is drowned out by the sound of party-goers counting down from ten.

"Nine, eight…"

Skye mentally curses the crowd, Jemma was supposed to come back in time for Skye to find someone to make out with at midnight.

"Seven, six…"

Instead, she’s stuck with Lance, who has pulled another noisemaker out of his pocket.

"Five, four…"

He blows loudly in time with the counting. Skye’s pretty sure she’s going to hear that sound in her nightmares tonight.

"Three, two…"

She rips the noisemaker out of her mouth and stomps on it with her shoe. Lance reaches into his pocket again like there’s another one.

"One…"

She’s purely looking out for herself as she grabs his shirt to pull him towards her. In her heels, they’re pretty much the same height.

With her lips pressed against his, there’s no space for the noisemakers.

He’s stunned for a second, but then his hands settle on her waist and pulls her in closer. She moves forward until she can feel his back collide with the wall.

She’s still annoyed with him, but she just channels that into the kiss. And it’s a good kiss, better than it has right to be when one of the participants is an annoying little shit.

Skye pulls back after a while, and their both a little disoriented. She recovers first, though, and reaches into his pocket where the third noisemaker is.

Or at least, where she thought it would be.

Instead her fingers wrap around the foil packaging of a condom.

She looks Lance up and down. He smirks at her.

She really wouldn’t mind putting that condom to use.


	29. Resolutions

Of course it would take her less than 48 hours to break one of her New Years Resolutions.

Or at least be tempted to.

Because she wasn’t giving in, not on January second.

And besides, it wasn’t her resolution, not really. It was Jemma’s resolution for her.

No jumping into the bed with someone just because they have a sexy accent and a pulse.

"I haven’t had sex with you," Skye replied when Jemma first suggested.

"But that’s not for a lack of trying," Jemma had replied.

Whatever, that was years ago. It was rude of Jemma to bring it up in the first place.

So of course, it’s not quite midnight on January 2nd, and the guy sitting next to her at the bar has the sexiest British accent she’s ever heard.

And she spent a year backpacking through Europe; she’s heard quite a few English accents.

She’s more focused on the sound of his voice, and the muscles in his arms, which are clearly visible through his light blue shirt, than on what he’s actually saying.

Something about how his friends dragged him here to play wingman they could get laid, she thinks.

He’s clearly not fulfilling that duty. She doesn’t mind.

To be fair, she’s pretty sure that friend is the one making out with Skye’s co-worker, Victoria.

"Are you even listening to what I’m saying?" he asks with a chuckle.

"Yes," she says. 

Kind of.

"Then what’s my name?"

Shit. She knows this. He definitely said it. She definitely remembers it.

She fishes the cherry out of her drink and eats it to stall for time.

"Lance," she finally remembers.

He responds by reaching over and grabbing the cherry stem out of her fingers. 

"Wanna see a trick?" he asks.

He sticks the stem in his mouth before she can respond.

He’s tying a knot in the stem using only his tongue. 

It’s hot.

She’s weak.

The stem is still his mouth when she leans over to kiss him. Just thinking about what he’s doing is too much to handle, when paired with that accent.

When his tongue enters her mouth, she swears she can feel the knotted cherry stem on the tip of it.

Fuck New Years resolutions.


	30. Drowning Sorrows

"Look," he tells her as they both reach for the last bottle of champagne, "I’ve had a shit day to end a shit year and I need to drown my sorrows."

"If you feel you need to drown your sorrows, then what you probably need is to sober up," Skye tells him, tugging the neck of the bottle towards her.

His grasp is firm around the center of it, though.

"And that’s what tomorrow’s for. New beginnings or whatever. But tonight is for getting drunk," he says plainly.

"Then get some whiskey. That’s what people drink when they’re sad. Champagne’s for partying," she smiles.

"I’m pretty sure that’s tequila," he corrects her.

"I’ve got that, too."

"Then you don’t need the champagne."

"I’ll tell you what," she says after looking him up and down. He’s pretty cute, and she’s pretty sure he’s not an axe murderer. "Come with me to my friend’s party."

"Why would I do that?" he asks. "I don’t even know your name."

"Because that’s the only place this bottle of champagne is going," she says slyly. "And because it’ll keep creepy guys away from me, and you won’t have to spend your night crying into your drink."

"I have no plans for crying," he protests.

"Of course not, we’re going to a party."


	31. New Years Regrets

All Lance wanted was a relaxing night in. He’d pop open a few beers, catch up on his DVR, and watch the ball drop on his tv.

He’d even given his driver (one of the perks of a successful film career) the night off.

No Times Square celebrations (like anyone in their right mind would leave their apartment and head into that mess), no flashy parties with friends. All they’d do is remind him of Skye. Hell, she might even turn up at one of them.

Or so he’d thought.

With an hour to go until midnight, he flipped to one the channels filming in Times Square. He still had more TV to catch up on, he just wanted a moment to laugh at all the people freezing their asses off.

Apparently he’d missed the advertisements announcing that Skye was co-hosting the New Years countdown.

He cringed the moment he saw her, but couldn’t bring himself to change the channel.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ended things the way he did, with a shouting match and last minute trip home to London. Maybe he should have tried to fix things as soon as he got back. Maybe he fucked up big time.

He nearly crushes his can of beer as she interviews potential New Years kisses (at least that means she’s probably not seeing anyone right now. It’s a cold comfort) and forgets to change the channel, even when the commercials come on.

He’s too busy thinking about her.

He wants to call, but clearly she’s in the middle of something.

He should have called weeks ago.

He watches as she yells along with the countdown, as she plants a chaste kiss on her chosen partner for the evening, and as confetti spills all over her, getting caught in her hair.

He feels awful, like he’s been punched in the gut.

The show switches over the west coast hosts and his phone lights up from across the room.

He can see her picture on the caller ID.


	32. Maid of Honor & Best Man

It’s over (at least Skye’s responsibilities are). Jemma didn’t rip her dress, the flowers were fresh, the ring-bearer didn’t lose the rings, the vows have been exchanged, all the photos have been taken, and now it’s time to cut loose.

The first thing Skye wants is a drink.

And it seems Lance, the best main to her maid of honor, has decided to forgo glasses in favor of an entire bottle of wine.

Skye’s experience with the man is limited, but she’s under the impression he’s actually showing restraint by going for wine instead of whiskey.

Still, he probably shouldn’t drink the whole thing by himself before they’ve even sat down for dinner. Good thing she’d rather help him with it than wait in line at the bar for her own drink.

He passes the bottle over to her as soon as she takes a seat next to him in the elaborate garden where the reception’s taking place.

"Long day?" he asks.

She takes a long swig from the bottle and passes it back. His taste (which is probably more Jemma’s taste) in wine isn’t half bad.

"Wouldn’t have been so long if you’d kept a closer eye on the ring-bearer," she remarks.

"Ward said he was taking care of that," Lance defends himself. "Said he’s good with kids."

"And you believed that?" Skye laughs.

"I was… distracted," he finally admits.

"By what? Something small and shiny?"

"By a gorgeous maid of honor," he says with a wink.

She pretends to gag.

"Come on, we’re the best man and maid of honor, it’s tradition," he tells her. "Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it."

She has, minimally. She’s been pretty busy reassuring Jemma that the day would go well, so she hasn’t had a ton of time to think about other things.

Still, the guy looks good in a suit. She’s not made of stone.

"Maybe if you hadn’t encouraged the flower girl to dump her basket of flowers on top of herself midway down the aisle—"

"I had nothing to do with that," he insists. "That was all May."

Skye folds her arms across her chest, “Yeah right.”

"Fine," Lance says, "don’t believe me. But save me a dance."

And after they polish off the bottle of wine, she saves him three, followed by a make out session against an unfortunately thorny rosebush.

She doesn’t even notice the holes in the back of her dress until the next morning.


	33. Wager

Of all the dumb things Skye has ever done, perhaps the dumbest was agreeing to be the Maid of Honor in her ex-girlfriend’s wedding.

This was supposed to be the big first step in moving on with her life, in not obsessing over Jemma Simmons. After all, the breakup had been Skye’s idea. And she and Jemma were friends now.

Just friends. Best friends.

Because it’s a lot easier to be best friends living on opposite coasts than it is to girlfriend’s living on opposite coasts. At least, that had been the idea at the time.

And boy was that idea coming back to bite Skye in the ass.

She’d imagined it, her wedding to Jemma. And every time Jemma showed her a photo of a cake, or asked her opinion on invitations, or just said the word wedding, Skye was reminded of that fantasy.

And Jemma said the word wedding a lot (which is understandable, she is planning one).

Skye’s not sure she can take much more of this.


	34. Wedding Date

"So, how did the two of you meet?" Bobbi’s mother asks politely, although Lance can see her looking around the room for an excuse to leave.

He doesn’t have an answer. They definitely should have discussed this on drive to the reception. They’re screwed.

"At a bar," Skye begins before Lance can even think of a story. "He spilled his drink on me and asked if I needed help cleaning it up."

"That sounds exactly like Lance," Mrs. Morse responds, and Lance can hear the judgement in her voice.

"I told him nice try, but he was just so charming I couldn’t resist giving him my number. He’s lucky it was a dark colored shirt."

Maybe they’re not as screwed as he thought. It worries him that Skye was able to create such a believable story after an hour total in her car (she insisted she needed an out in case he was a creep), but he tries not to think about it. She just got lucky.

Mack told him it was a terrible idea to hire a date of Craigslist, but he was desperate. Then again, Mack also told him it was a terrible idea to say yes to going to Bobbi’s wedding.

Lance only agreed to go because he thought he’d be in his own successful relationship at this point.

And then it was just too late to back out.

So he posted an ad on Craigslist looking for a fake girlfriend and Skye (along with a few serious weirdos) responded. She had a stable job as an au pair while she worked on her masters degree, she had references (just one really, a friend named Jemma who verified Skye wasn’t a stalker or anything), and she was hot enough that he wouldn’t look bad in front of Bobbi.

Especially in the black dress she was wearing.

Skye and Lance made polite conversation with his friends through dinner. It was all going well.

She’d even managed to pass Bobbi’s cross examination, and that was a miracle (seriously, why would Bobbi even do that. Is he not allowed to be happy in his own fake relationship without his ex getting suspicious?).

In fact, as they danced together towards the end of the night, Lance found himself reluctant to think of getting back in her car and driving home. He didn’t want the night to end.

So when Skye suggests that they go to a bar so he can spill a drink on her for real, he agrees quickly.


	35. Wedding Crasher

He knows the exact moment Skye spots him, sitting in the back row of pews. He can feel her eyes boring a hole into him and she looks like she could commit murder.

It’s probably going to look really weird in the wedding videos.

He’s here for closure, though, not to cause a scene, so he keeps quiet during the ceremony. He even averts his eyes as Bobbi walks by on her way out. After all, this is about him, not pissing her off. As far as he’s concerned, she doesn’t even need to know he’s here.

He’s the last guest to leave and Skye walks back in and corners him before he can.

Her threats are explicit, and really not appropriate for a church.

Then again, the way it turns him on isn’t church-appropriate either, so he can’t really judge her.

"If you show up at the reception, I will rip your testicles off and make you wear them as a necklace," she finishes her speech.

He gulps, even though he’s pretty sure that’s not anatomically possible.

He hadn’t planned on going to the reception anyway. He had the closer her needed. It’s time to move on.

Granted, the woman he kind of wants to move on with is currently threatening him with bodily harm, so he’s not sure how that’s going to work.

He nods, tells her he won’t be a problem, and sneaks back to his car to drive home.

Hours later, he’s only consumed about half the amount of beer he’d expected, when the doorbell rings.

It’s Skye, still in her bridesmaid’s dress.

He’s kind of surprised, but that doesn’t stop him from letting her in.


	36. Runaway Groom

It’s been a long day and all Skye wants right now is be inside her apartment, in her pajamas, and open up a bottle of wine.

She’s just had her first runaway groom, and she fucking deserves it.

She didn’t even see it coming. She thought it was all in her head, the possibility that the future-groom she’d developed a crush on might actually return her feelings. She hopes she didn’t subconsciously encourage him to leave his fiancee.

She feels like shit. That cancelled wedding is going to cost a fortune. Not to mention the heartbreak she feels partially responsible.

Still, as she turns the corner to her apartment, her heart races a little when she spots the figure waiting outside of her downstairs workshop.

He left the tux in his hotel room, so she’s not surprised to find him in black jeans and a t-shirt.

"This is probably really bad," starts when he sees her approaching.

She doesn’t know what to say.

"I know everyone probably hates me now, and that probably includes you," he says.

"Lance," she says, "I don’t hate you."

She doesn’t know what the fuck she feels at the moment, aside from awful.

"I couldn’t do it," he admits, sounding defeated.

"I know."

"Can I come in?" he asks.

She should definitely say no. Twenty-four hours ago he was about to get married. She planned his wedding.

But she lets him in anyway.

"Now would probably be a bad time to ask you out, wouldn’t it?" his voice raises a bit at the end in stress.

She has no idea what to do. On one hand, running off with the groom whose wedding she just planned with probably ruin her career. On the other hand, her feelings.

She sighs deeply and tries to figure out what to say.


	37. A Well Intentioned Mother

“How’s it going?” Skye asks as she drops her glass on the table and takes a seat next to Lance.

He rolls his eyes, “Well I’m very happy for the lucky couple, but seriously considering lighting my mum on fire.”

"Maybe wait until the wedding’s over to do that," Skye suggests. "Jemma might light you on fire afterwards."

He laughs and takes a long sip from his beer.

"So what did your mother do this time," Skye asks casually, careful not to make eye contact.

Lance and his mother have a tense relationship, he doesn’t like to talk about it.

"Just the same thing she’s been going on about since the engagement. Jemma’s getting married and she already has two PhDs and I have failed her as a son. It’s like she’s completely forgotten the part where I’m single because my younger sister stole my girlfriend. I think I’m handling that pretty well, but do I get any credit? No. Just a speech about how I’m going to die alone, and she’ll have to rely on Jemma and Bobbi to take care of me."

"Ah yes, that speech," Skye leans back in her chair. "Has she brought up grandchildren yet?"

Lance groans, “Please don’t ask about the grandkids thing.”

"That bad?"

"You’d think it’s her only reason for living," he replies.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have any parents," Skye comments.

"Sounds like a dream, to be honest," he tells her, then reconsiders. "I’m kidding, mum’s alright most of the time. She’s just a bit pushy at times."

"Yes, I know," Skye says. "She’s insisting I come for Christmas dinner. You know, since I’m an orphan."

Lance gasps, “Tell me she didn’t—”

"I can’t," Skye says. "She actually used the word orphan."

"You should show up with a date, tell her you’ve taken her orphan comment to heart, and you’re thinking of starting your own family," Lance suggests.

"She’d die," Skye says. "If only I was every bit as single as you are."

"Be my date," Lance suggests, suddenly thrilled by the idea. "It’ll get her off my back, and I can tell her to drop the orphan comments and she’ll just think I’m being a supportive boyfriend."

"Okay," Skye agrees, and he’s actually shocked that she does.

Christmas is going to be fun this year.


	38. Terrible Taste in Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Friendly reminder that[these](http://instagram.com/p/uT73yCxd-I) [are](http://cache2.asset-cache.net/gc/458623234-actor-nick-blood-attends-the-los-angeles-gettyimages.jpg?v=1&c=IWSAsset&k=2&d=GkZZ8bf5zL1ZiijUmxa7Qb2rrjKwfioLxT8bDlz4e6mg3GGijgT2RnoXYe8Dmm9l) [all](http://www.contactmusic.com/pics/lf/virgin_media_awards_081112/nick-blood-attends-the-2012-virgin-media_5946416.jpg) [outfits](http://instagram.com/p/tDYl3rxd6J/) Nick Blood has worn out in public._

"Can’t you just make my job easy for once," Skye says, pointing tensely at the rack of clothes she spent hours picking out.

"Now what would be the fun in that?" Lance teases.

"The fun in that would be that we don’t have to argue over your hideous taste in clothes and people would know that I am actually good at my job," she crosses her arms over her chest.

She’s not letting him go out in public the way he’s dressed. It’s a freaking movie premiere and, while everyone else is going to be in suits and gowns, her client wants to wear a neon tank top.

"But the ladies love the guns," he’d argued.

They were nice, but that was besides the point.

"I’ll wear a blazer over it, if it’ll get you off my back."

Like that’s an actual compromise.

One of these days she’s going to throttle him. He deserves it.

"At least I’m not going out there naked," Lance shrugs.

Skye schools her face into a blank expression as she gives herself a moment to imagine that.

"That would probably be more event-appropriate," she tells him.

He pouts.

It takes almost an hour, but she does get him to agree to an all-black suit. It’s victory and a miracle, one she’s going to reward herself for with a cocktail when she gets home. She’s earned it.

She’s pushing him out the door to his waiting limo when he leans over and whispers in her ear, “My boxers are bright green. With bunnies.”

She could learn to live with that


	39. Pool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texts From Last Night prompt meme

_(416):We found your brother, passed out, floating in our pool, with a bottle, on a blow up mattress. How did he mange to walk 2 blocks and get into our backyard?_

He’s woken up by something tapping on his head. He rolls over to get a look at it and Skye nearly pokes his eye out with her foot.

"Where the hell am I?" he asks, not bothering to get up. It’s too bright out to move.

"My house," she tells him.

"How the hell did I get here?"

"That’s a really great question. I found you floating in the pool and singing Itsy Bitsy Spider at 3 AM," she sounds more amused that angry, which he supposes is a good thing. "Jemma said to make sure you didn’t drown, so I dragged you out."

"And left me here?" he gestures to the hard concrete surrounding the pool.

Skye shrugs, “You’re heavy and I was tired. Just be glad my dad’s out of town.”


	40. Scavenger Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texts From Last Night Prompt Meme

_(315): I just got kidnapped by the rugby team for a scavenger hunt. I'm "the girl you had sex with last night"_

"Please stop doing this," Skye asks as soon as Lance answers his phone.

"You said you wanted a study break."

"Yeah, like food or something. Not getting thrown over Trip’s shoulder while Fitz screams out that I’m definitely the girl Hunter went home with last night. They don’t even know my name."

"Fitz was really drunk last night, and he’s not great with names," Lance explains.

"How many more of your teammates are going to bother me?"

"None, you were an extra special bonus round," he says like she should be impressed.

She’s not.


	41. Cocaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texts From Last Night prompt meme

_(508): the dude said it was powdered sugar but I don't think it was? SOS_

"So who wants to go help Hunter dispose of some cocaine?" Skye asks as soon she reads the text.

No one volunteers.

It’s a long, lonely subway ride to meet him, during which she rejects his ideas to bake it donuts and see if Fitz will eat it, build a snow man out of it, and sneak it into May’s room and call the cops.

Although it would be fun to watch May shoot him again.


	42. Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texts From Last Night prompt meme

_(781): I was just told by a cop that my party was the most epic party they ever crashed_

"You’re lying," Lance says. He doesn’t believe a word of it.

Either that or he’s still bitter that he was out of town and missed it.

Skye shrugs, “You’ve seen the photos.”

"Yeah, and I have to ask, was there a single guy there?"

"You were invited," Skye says.

"And if I’d been able to come, it would have been me and forty half-naked women?" he sounds about to cry.

Truthfully, the only reason she had invited was because she knew he wouldn’t be able to come. But the pained look on his face is hilarious, so she just says, “You really missed out. Wine and underwear night was a blast.”


	43. Blackout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texts From Last Night prompt meme

_(407):I woke up this morning with a hospital armband on containing all the information off my fake i.d. WTF did we do last night!?!?_

"Dude, what the hell happened last night?" Skye asks, examining the medical bracelet wrapped around her wrist. Her age is off by three years and it says she’s from Pennsylvania, which definitely isn’t right.

Lance, whose bottom half is resting on the couch while his top half is angled down towards the floor, doesn’t answer, so she rolls over to shake him. The pounding headache and shooting pain in her left arm probably account for the hospital bracelet.

She does manage to wake him up, though.

"I was hoping you knew," he tells her when she repeats his question. "Also have you seen my pants."

That’s when Skye notices that Lance is completely naked from the waist down.

"I vaguely remember you hanging them from the tree outside my window," she tells him, getting up to check.

Sure enough, there’s a pair of black jeans and purple striped boxer briefs waving in the breeze.

Skye can’t remember anything else.

She does, however, have 27 text messages from Jemma Simmons, the first of which features a very creative death threat.


	44. Moving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texts From Last Night Meme

_(315):i was quietly enjoying my waffles when he came downstairs naked, kissed me on the forehead, and thanked me for the night before. i didnt even know anyone stayed over._

"I think he’s stealth moving in," Skye says.

"Would that be so bad?" Jemma asks, sipping cautiously from her tea. ”He doesn’t take up much space and he’s a better cook that you.”

"He’s not even my boyfriend," Skye dumps a packet of sugar into her coffee. "It’s weird."

"You’ve been exclusively sleeping with each other for three months and just because you refuse to call them dates doesn’t change the fact that they are," Jemma says bluntly. She’s been sitting on that for a while now.

"Do you think he’s doing this to punish me?" Skye asks.

Jemma sighs, “I think he’s doing this because he wants you to commit.”

Skye mulls the idea over in her head. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It would probably erase that weird feeling she has about keeping a toothbrush at his apartment.

"Also I think he and Ward are having some sort of fight, so he’s hiding out at your place," Jemma adds.

That sounds exactly like Lance.


	45. Hiding

“You’re hiding,” Jemma lets herself into Skye’s bunk after a quick knock.

“I’m resting,” Skye argues, gesturing at her left leg, which is currently sitting in a large black (by request) cast and propped up on a large pillow.

“Which I’m very happy about,” Jemma says, despite not looking it at all, “but wouldn’t you rather rest in the Command Center, where we’re all waiting for updates from Hunter?”

“I’m not worried,” Skye says, a little too quickly and a little too cheerfully.

The scientist looks at her skeptically, “Really? Because if my boyfriend was off by himself on a dangerous mission with a dubious extraction plan, I’d be beside myself with worry.” Her voice is soft and gentle, a display of her best bedside manner.

“I’m not worried,” Skye repeats, more forcefully this time. “I’m barely thinking about it.”

And that’s a lie that even Jemma Simmons can’t mistake. She closes the door to Skye’s bunch and crawls into bed next to Skye.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

For a split second, Skye considers lying again, playing innocent. But it’s just too damn exhausting.

“No,” she says. “I do not want to talk about the fact that Lance is off sneaking into a heavily guarded military compound and I’m stuck here, waiting for him to hopefully come home.”

Jemma wraps and arm around her friend and pulls her close.

“If I don’t talk about it, I can pretend it’s not happening,” Skye elaborates, her voice muffled from her face being pressed against Jemma’s body.

For her part, Jemma doesn’t offer false promises that of course Lance will come back in one piece. They both know she can’t guarantee that. Instead, she just rubs a comforting hand up and down Skye’s back as Skye forces back the tears that would make this seem even more real.

They wait like that for hours, skipping dinner, until they get word that Lance has signaled for his extraction. Only then does Skye get her hopes up enough that Jemma can convince her to leave her room so she can see Lance the moment he gets back to base.


	46. Mix Up

Under most circumstances, Lance would be pretty pleased that the hot girl from down the hall is finally taking notice of him (he’s been taking the stairs instead of the elevator for two months just so he can walk by her door).

But not today. Today she looks pissed.

“Where did you get that shirt?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.

He gets the feeling she’s not asking because she wants to buy one of her own.

He looks down at his own chest. He’s wearing a plain black v-neck, a little tighter that most of his other ones, but he chalks that up to a combination of laundry room error and hitting the gym hard.

“My closet,” he responds, grinning at her in hopes of charming her out of her aggressive mood and into a normal conversation. Technically, he keeps his t-shirts in a dresser, but closet sounds wittier, more manly.

“And how exactly did my t-shirt get into your closet?” she asks.

He stares at her. Even if it was her t-shirt (which it’s not, how would he even get his hands on that?), how would she be able to tell? It’s pain and black. At least half the people in their building probably own identical ones.

He’s going to prove her wrong. And, if he’s really lucky, he’s going to dazzle her.

In one quick motion, he tugs his shirt up and over his shoulders. He doesn’t miss the way that her eyes zero in on his bare chest, before quickly moving up to look him in the eyes. It’s not quite the awed and impressed look he was hoping for, but it’ll do.

He takes a quick peek at the tag on the inside of the collar, expecting to see the usual Hanes or bargain brand logo. Instead it says “ALLSAINTS” in bold black letters.

That is definitely not a store he shops at, not for t-shirts.

She must notice the confused look in his eyes, because she reaches out and snatches the garment from his hands.

“Thanks for washing this, though,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks to apartment.

That’s how he ended up with it, he realizes. She probably left it in one of the machines in the basement laundry room. Then when he used it, it got mixed up with his clothes.

He shakes his head and returns to his place for a new shirt. He really should have thought that display through a little better.

The embarrassment is worth it, though. When he compliments her on her black v-neck (which fits significantly looser on her than it did on him), she definitely smiles back with interest.


	47. New In School

“I never knew a man’s legs could be so attractive,” Skye says as she blatantly ogles the new soccer coach, Lance Hunter. He’s been here a week and Skye hasn’t quite found the opportunity to talk to him.

“Sometimes I think you need more guidance than your students,” Jemma pops a grape into her mouth.

“You’re even hornier than they are, and that’s an achievement,” Fitz comments.

“Come on,” Skye says, “like neither of you noticed.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t feel the need to share our observations with the entire staff lounge,” Fitz rolls his eyes.

He does that a lot. The students have noticed it to the point that he appears in every Senior Follies show, with an over-exaggerated brogue and eyes permanently rolling in disgust.

It’s pretty funny.

“Look, we’ve both kept quiet about your crush on the auto shop teacher, who could literally carry you around in one arm, so you have no room to talk,” Skye cocks an eyebrow at Fitz.

That shuts him.

She turns to Jemma, “I assume you’ve already managed to befriend him.”

That’s just how Jemma is, human sunshine. Skye likes it because Jemma balances out her more pessimistic tendencies.

“I mean, I introduced myself,” Jemma explains. “He’s new in town, it’s only polite. And before you ask, yes he’s single.”

“What, did he just volunteer that information himself?” Fitz scoffs.

“No, he asked me if I knew whether the cute guidance counselor was seeing anyone,” Jemma smirks.

As if he’s heard Jemma’s comment, Lance turns around to wink at Skye.

If Jemma hadn’t already mentioned his interest, Skye would be embarrassed. Instead, she’s just trying to remember if dating fellow teachers is against school policy.


	48. Twister

"Please tell me that’s a phone pressing up against me," Skye says, knowing full well that it isn’t.

"Nope," Lance sounds utterly unashamed.

"Great," Fitz mutters, and Skye can feel him lean as far away from Lance as possible.

Mack says nothing, although Skye imagines he’s rolling his eyes. She can only see his legs from this position.

"I can’t help it," Lance protests. "It’s a natural reaction."

Jemma breaks into a fit of giggles at this.

"Yeah, well your natural reaction is pushing up against my ass," Skye says without thinking.

"Too easy," Mack says as Fitz begins to laugh so hard he falls to the ground. He’s out.

Once everyone has composed themselves and Fitz and has slid off of the gam mat, Jemma spins the dial.

"Left hand red," she calls.

Lance shifts his hips forcefully into Mack as he turns over, knocking the unsuspecting man to his knees. Skye then spins over Lance, who is currently crowing about his victory over Mack, and moves into a much more comfortable position.

Unfortunately, that position now has her nose to nose with Lance, as his erection presses against her hip.

He smirks and grinds into her.

"This is going to be weird to watch, isn’t it?" Mack comments glumly.

"You might want to cover your eyes," Fitz advises.

Luckily for the spectators, May chooses that moment to enter the room. She doesn’t bat so much as an eyelash as she takes in Skye and Lance twisted around each other while the others watch.

"Briefing in five," she tells them, and exits the room.

It takes a second for Skye to untangle herself from Lance (and she’s pretty sure he’s making it as difficult as possible), but eventually she’s pulling her boots on and stumbling out the door after Fitz.

"Where’s he going?" Jemma asks when Hunter walks off in the direction.

"Cold shower, probably," Mack shakes his head.


	49. Emergency Room

Really, she’s got to learn to pay better attention to Fitz when he’s wrapped up in scientific fascination.

She cannot afford to lose another night of sleep waiting for him to get out of the ER after falling off a small cliff because he’s too busy staring at the stars to notice where his goddamn feet are going.

And yeah, maybe the guy sitting across from her in the waiting room is cute, and maybe the wink he just gave her means he’s interested, but his left hand is currently wrapped in a bloody kitchen towel, so that doesn’t say much for his personality.


	50. Coffee

She’s his type, he knows without turning around to look at her.

He does though, and he’s not disappointed.

After all, who could resist a girl who slams her hands on the counters and asks for “Coffee. Big,” in a voice a little too loud to be completely sober?


	51. Accidental Dick Pic

"I didn’t mean to," he says as soon as she steps off the jet.

"Then what exactly did you mean to do?" she walks past him without making eye contact.

"Save it for later?" he suggests weakly.

She turns and looks at him, hands on her hips, “You should know that I was in the field and Jemma was monitoring my phone when you sent that.”

Lance pales. Simmons is going to hold that over his head forever.


	52. Freezer

"Have you had your phone this entire time?" Skye practically screams.

Lance shrugs, “Maybe.”

"Then why the fuck didn’t you call for help?"

He nuzzles his face against the back of her neck, “I was really into the whole cuddling for warmth thing you suggested.”


	53. Detention

"This is ridiculous," Skye insists, as she takes her seat. "There are plenty of virtual frog dissections out there that are just as educational as the real thing. Punishing me for having morals is an outrage."

The teacher rolls her eyes and looks back down at her book.

Lance Hunter smirks as he drops into the seat next to her.

"And making me sit next to him is insult on top of injury."


	54. Pick Up Lines

"If you were a pirate," Lance appears suddenly on Skye’s left side, "would your parrot be on this shoulder," he taps her left shoulder, "or this one?" he drapes his arm over her right.

Skye reaches her right arms up and pulls him off of her.

"If I were a pirate, I’d be on the first ship away from you," she tells him, then walks away.

"I gave you the perfect opportunity to make a joke about my ‘plank’ and you just let it go," he yells after her.


	55. First Time Undercover

“So what do you think? Will Coulson give us As in Undercover work?” Lance jokes, once they’re safely onboard the jet and being flown back to base by Trip.

Skye pretends to consider, “Well there was that small firefight at the end.”

“Yes, but I waited until we had the hard drive and that’s what matters,” Lance points out.

“You know, you were surprisingly hands off,” Skye leans down and pulls of her high heels.

“Well, if you’d needed any pointers I certainly would have provided them, but you seemed to have the cover thing pretty well managed,” he looks confused.

“No, I mean that we were supposed to be a married couple,” she clarifies, slouding back against the jet walls after both of her shoes are off. “And you were keeping things pretty chaste.”

Lance feigns hurt feelings, “And you think I would have taken advantage of that? I assure you, I am a gentleman.” He places his right hand over his heart in emphasis.

Skye just smirks at him.

“All right and May might have had a quick word with me in which she described the myriad ways in which she could cause my bodily harm,” he shrugs. “I’m not even sure some of them are physically possible.”

That makes sense. Skye still feels kind of disappointed, though, which is weird. There is definitely nothing going on between them. He’s just a friend.

A friend who she spends a worryingly large amount of time picturing naked, but friends nonetheless.

She will say, though, she got a decent look at him in their hotel room when they changed into their formalwear and he’s living up to the picture in her head pretty well.


	56. Stuck in an Elevator

They’re halfway up to her hotel room when he gets impatient and pulls the emergency stop switch. She wasn’t expecting that, and it’s a bit of a cliché, but she can roll with it.

Both of their shirts are lying on the floor and his pants are around his ankles when I voice speaks up from the elevator control panel.

“Fire department, is everything alright?” it asks.

“Shit,” she curses loudly. She wonders how long he’s been on the line. They’ve both been making some interesting noises.

“We’re fine,” Lance removes his lips from the path they were trailing down her neck to respond. “I… uh… accidentally hit the elevator stop button.”

“Okay,” the man from the fire department sounds skeptical. Despite all their training and the fact that he can’t even see them, both Skye and Lance are blushing. “Just push the switch back in to get moving again.” Then he disconnects.

Skye and Lance both look at each other in shock for a moment, before bursting into giggles. Lance pulls his pants back up before getting them moving again.

By the time the elevator doors open again their shirts are back on, although his is completely unbuttoned. He sticks his head out the doors to make sure none of their teammates (or any strangers) are lurking in the hallway. Then he lets her steer him to the door.

She fumbles a little with the electronic keycard, but soon enough they’re in the room and ready to pick up where they left off.


	57. Covered in Feathers

“If I let you in, you have to promise not to take photos,” Lance’s voice is muffled by the door to his bunk.

“If you don’t let me in, you’ll never be able to get all those feathers off,” Skye counters.

She left her phone in her bunk anyway, so it’s not like he’s got anything to worry about.

She hears the lock click open, but he doesn’t actually open the door. So she does, shuffling the large bottle of Jemma’s glue dissolvent into the same hand holding the large pile of rags.

At first she just stares at him. He’s covered from head to toe in bright pink feathers. It looks kind of like a stripper’s artificial boa came to life and attacked him. She doesn’t even laugh because she’s too busy trying to figure out how the hell it happened.

“There’s an American Revolution tarred and feathered joke in there somewhere,” she eventually says, “but I can’t quite think of it.”

He glares at her, although his left eye is obscured by the feathers.

“Can we just get on with this?” he gestures towards the bottle in her hand.

“Take of your shirt,” she instructs him, “and your pants.”

“What, no foreplay?” he teases. “At least I know what turns you on, now.”

“Yeah,” she says, the sarcasm dripping from her voice, “nothing does it for me like pink feathers. You caught me.”


	58. Birthday Shots

"Sometimes, you just have to make a choice."

Skye picks up the shotglass and downs it. It tastes like artificial apples and vodka.

"And sometimes you don’t," she tells Lance before grabbing the other shot and downing that. "Ooh, this one really does taste like cherry pie. And rum, but mostly cherry pie."

"One of those was mine," he tells her, clearly disappointed.

"I’m the birthday girl," she responds. "I get to drink all the shots."

"Well you’ve certainly been trying," he tries to wave down the bartender for another drink. "Just do me a favor and don’t try to dance on the tables. I’ll have hard time explaining that one to May when we get back."

"Ooh, good idea," Skye gets up from her seat at the bar and heads towards a half empty table near the dancefloor.

Lance is forced to choose between the just arrived bartender and going after her. In the end, the threat of Melinda May is better motivation than the promise of a drink.


	59. Here For the Chocolate

"I don’t love you, I’m just here for the chocolate."

"That’s fine," Lance says with a smirk, "I know how you really feel, even if you won’t admit it."

"You know about my deep love for salted caramel chocolates? I thought I kept that hidden from everyone," she says in mock horror. "How did you find out."

"Ha ha," he replies sarcastically. "You can deny it all you want, but I know for a fact that Simmons has at least twice as much chocolate as I do, yet here you are."

Honestly, his assessment throws her off her game a little. Jemma does have a huge chocolate stash, as well as stress-baking induced hoard of cookies. And she did invite Skye to share them.

So it takes her a moment to find an appropriate comeback.

"Yeah, but she went for the mixed assortment. I’m not going to risk taking a bite into something coconut when you’ve got plenty of good stuff right here."

"Sure," Lance replies, dragging the vowel out in a way that makes it clear he sees right through her.


	60. The Little Mermaid

Telling him that her favorite movie, when she was little, was "The Little Mermaid" turns out to be a huge mistake

Skye’s not sure how he got into her room, but he’s the only one who could be responsible for the sudden appearance of Little Mermaid sheets on her bed.

“They’re flannel,” Lance says when she confronts him. “Very warm.”

And he’s right, although having Scuttle and Flounder watch her while she sleeps is a little creepy (really, it’s like the damn bird sees right through her).

Two weeks later, when she’s finally given into their flirting and gotten him into her bed, he’s as distracted by the cartoon characters as she is.

“You brought this on yourself,” she tells him, after she lets him make the requisite threesome joke about the two of them and Ariel. Then she shuts him up with another kiss.


	61. Snuggling

"Your feet are cold," Lance whines when Skye crawls back into bed.

"And your legs are warm," she grins as she rubs a foot up his calf.

"You are an evil woman and I don’t have to tolerate this," he comments flatly. "If you keep this up, I’m leaving."

Skye laughs and lays an arm on his chest, “No you won’t. We have the whole day, you won’t get out of bed for at least another two hours.”

"Alright, you’ve got me there," he rolls over to face her, mischief in his eyes. "But I can think of something much more fun to do for the next two hours."

Skye sighs and sinks into the bed, “I’ve been back on the base for 8 hours and all you can think about is sex.”

"It’s not all I can think about," he protests. "I’ve also thought about how I agreed to test those EMP guns for Fitz today, and how Koenig restocked our food supplies yesterday so maybe I can talk Simmons into making French toast for dinner. I just happen to be an excellent multitasker."

Skye rolls her eyes at him,” Food, sex, and guns. No wonder I can’t keep my hands off you.”


	62. Polar Bear Plunge

"You know I read an article about a group of people who do this naked," Lance waggles his eyebrows as he pulls his shirt over his head.

"Wait, you can read?" Skye teases, kicking off her shoes.

"Okay fine, Mack told me about an article he read about people who do this naked," he corrects himself. "I do read, though."

"I know," Skye unbuttons her shirt and drops in on top the pile that currently contains her shoes, socks, coat, and hat. "I’ve seen the Harry Potter set in your bunk."

"They’re good books, Skye," he tells her. "I like to reread."

"i wasn’t judging," she holds up her hands in innocence.

He snicker, “You’re always judging.”

"Only because I saw you cry when Hedwig died," Skye adds her pants to the pile and jumps and down a little to get her blood flowing.

"She was just a bird," he protests. "An innocent bird."

"Sure, okay," Skye says. "Now are we going to do this?"

They both run down the beach to the water, stopping just before the surf.

"On three," Skye commands. "One. Two—"

Before she reaches three, he slides his arms around her, picking her up and dragging her into the water until it’s up to just below his hips. Then he drops her in so her whole body is soaked and freezing.

"You bastard," she sputters once she’s come up for air.

"I’m not going to argue against that accusation," he shrugs.

He thinks he’s prepared for her to pull him down under the waves, but it’s still a shock when she does. When they both come up for air again it’s a small relief to have her body pressed up against his.

At least he doesn’t have to worry about needing a cold shower.


	63. First Snow

"First snow of the year," Skye announces from her spot at the window.

Lance immediately gets up and pulls her away from the window.

"This is supposed to be an abandoned house," he tells her, clearly on edge. "Condemned, in fact. Stay away from the window."

"Yes sir, Mr. Mercenary," she grimaces.

"Look, I’d just rather not have to hide in the streets tonight," he tells her. "As you mentioned, it’s snowing."

"So you’re saying we can’t go outside and have a snowball fight?" she raises an eyebrow at him.

He doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

In the morning, though, when they creep out of the house in the darkness, she swears she sees him smile when she pelts him with a snowball.


	64. Apparate

"This is starting to get weird, you know," Skye says, not bothering to look up from the watch she’s trying to spell.

She can hear him sigh with frustration before he says, “It’s not intentional, I swear.”

"Oh I know," she finally looks up from her work to see a relieved expression on his face. "I’m pretty sure she warded her apartment to keep you out."

His relieved look changes to one of exasperation.

"And why would you think that?" he huffs. "You didn’t say anything to her, did you?"

"Nope," Skye says. "Haven’t met her yet. She keeps weirder hours then I do. But generally women don’t like their ex-husbands apparating into their homes without an invitation. Hence the whole getting a divorce thing."

Defeated, he flops down onto the couch next to her, putting his feet up on the coffee table like she invited him to stay.

Jemma once told Skye that she has a soft spot for strays. And it must be true, because she doesn’t kick him out.

"How about you order a pizza and we crack this thing open," he eventually offers, holding up a bottle of red wine that Skye assumes was meant for his ex.

She eyes it with distaste. Ever since an unfortunate incident at the Witch’s Institute, Skye’s never been able to stomach red wine.

She tells him, “If you pay for the pizza, I think I’ve got a bottle of tequila that you can drown your sorrows in instead.”


	65. Terrible Plans

"This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in."

"Still better than your plan," she reminds him.

"Only because you doubt my charms," Lance gestures up and down his body with his hands, making it clear exactly which ‘charms’ he’s referring to.

Skye snorts, “I work with your ex-wife on a daily basis. I know for a fact that your charms wear thin after a while.”

Like three hours into an undercover op, when they should have been breaking into a private wing of the mansion they’re in and are instead chowing down on canapés while trying to figure out how to get past security without any of Skye’s technological assistance.

"Yeah, but it takes more than a couple hours," he argues, before realizing that a couple hours isn’t much to brag about and falling silent for a moment. "Fine, we’ll do it your way. Horny couple looking someone to be alone, a little knockout gas for the security guy, and hope we’re fast enough to avoid attracting any more attention."

She’s already tugging him towards the side exit, hands under his jacket to keep up the ruse, when he says, “And then you’ll see exactly how charming I can be.”


	66. Massage

"Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?"

"I’d like to see you try," she retorts.

He squints his eyes at her in confusion, trying to figure out what the hell she could possibly mean by that.

"Is that supposed to be some sort of insult to my manhood via my massage giving skills?" he asks. It doesn’t make much sense, but it’s the best possible explanation he can come up with.

Skye’s shoulders slump and she lightly knocks her forehead against the top of the table in front of her.

"Nope," she says, although it’s muffled by the fact that her head’s still resting on the table, her hair forming a curtain around her. Sighing, she pulls herself upright. "It means that I’ve been up for nearly 48 hours and the coffee just isn’t cutting it anymore."

"So that’s a no to the relaxing shoulder massage, then?" he asks.

"I’m going to bed, and I’d appreciate it you followed me to my bunk to make sure I don’t walk into a wall or fall asleep in the middle of the hallway," she tells him.

"I guess I can do that."


	67. Exhaustion

"Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?" Lance drops his bag to the side of the door. He’s just tired enough to question it, rather than accept it.

"This is how I sleep," Skye responds.

"Yeah, except you usually sleep in your bed," he reminds her.

"And you usually join me," she smirks up at him, tugging down on the sheet covering her slowly.

"It’s four o’clock in the morning, Skye," he tells her. "I’m a tired man, not a sex machine."

"To be fair, I’ve definitely heard you claim to be both."

"Was I drunk when I said that?" Lance asks. "No wait, I remember. You were wearing that dress with the really low back and I could see that tattoo. That tattoo makes me say a lot of stupid things."

"I will have to remember that for the future," Skye says, and he’s too tired to worry about it. "Now get in."

He kicks off his boots and climbs in next to her, asleep before his head hits the pillow.

She doesn’t mind, really. He’s as useful as a space heater as he is as a sex partner. And besides, they’ve always been big on the morning sex.


	68. Artist

“Please, put it down.”

Skye eyes the notebook in her hand with amusement.

“So it is a diary, then?” she asks with a smirk.

“No,” he practically yells.

“The dude doth protest too much, methinks,” Skye ignores him and opens the book anyway.

There are no words inside, just a bunch of little cartoons. She can easily identify the sour expression May frequently wears when Hunter’s around, Bobbi’s glorious blonde hair, Coulson in his suit, and Mack towering above everyone else. Oddly enough, she can only distinguish between Trip and Fitz thanks to Trip’s bald head, and Fitz’s Doctor Who shirt (despite the fact that she’s never seen him wear one).

Of the long haired characters left, she assumes she’s the one in all black. The squiggly lines sticking out around her are her vibration powers.

Lance Hunter is really not an artist.

She flips forward a page and snorts when she sees her all black wearing, quaking cartoon self kissing another character, this one with his own cartoon beard and over-exaggerated arm muscles.


	69. Coming Home

“So what are we going to do with one week mandatory leave?” Lance asks when he hears Skye stir beside him.

Groggily, she opens one eye, then the other.

“We could finally paint the living room,” she suggests eventually.

It’s an ugly olive green color and they’ve been talking about painting it since they bought the house just over six months ago. They’ve been too busy (and too lazy) to get around to it, but with a week off after a particularly grueling mission, maybe now is the perfect opportunity.

Lance shakes his head “We’d have the leave the house to do that, wouldn’t we?” he groans. “That sounds like a lot effort.”

Skye snorts, “We have a week off, I hope you plan to get out of the house at some point.”

“Maybe like Friday?” he considers. “I’ll work up to it.”

Skye can’t help but laugh at how pathetic he sounds. But honestly, right now she doesn’t feel much like getting up or getting out either.

“What if we bought art to cover up the paint?” she suggests. “I know a few websites that sell reasonably priced art, and we wouldn’t even have to leave the bed to find it. They deliver.”

“I like the way you think,” Lance says with a sleepy grin.


	70. In My Ear

“Can you still hear me?” his voice rings through her ears.

“Yes,” she whispers back, clearly annoyed. “I can still hear you.”

“Well there’s no need to be snappy about it,” Lance tells her.

“And there’s no need to ask me if I can hear you every three seconds,” Skye retorts, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he responds.

For a moment, Skye wonders if he actually can see her. She peeks up from her current hiding spot, but there aren’t any cameras that she can see (not that she needs to be able to see them for them to be there) and it’s not like he has any hacking skills whatsoever.

Apparently he’s just a good guesser. Or he knows her that well (which makes her a bit nervous).

Or he’s used to people rolling their eyes at him constantly, because he’s that annoying.

Yeah, that must be it.

“I will stop rolling my eyes at you when you shut up and let me do my job,” Skye says slowly and calmly. Those lessons with May have paid off because while she’s mentally imaging herself knocking him unconscious so she can hear her surroundings clearly, her heart is beating a slow, steady rhythm.

“Yes ma’am,” she can picturing him saluting her on the other end of the comms. Then she hears the telltale click of him turning off the speaking end of his monitor.


	71. Sport

“G’day mate,” Skye greets Lance when he enters the kitchen.

He’s exhausted, and not really ready to be awake yet, so it takes him a moment to comprehend her.

“Wrong again, that’s Australian,” he informs her. “You know, pretty much on the opposite side of the planet, Christmas comes in the middle of summer, the toilets flush the other way. Australia.”

“Jolly good, old sport,” Skye tries again, in what he thinks might actually be her attempt at an English accent.

(Simmons had warned him about how terrible it would be.)

“Closer,” he tells her and she grins. “But you’ve gone back at least a century.”

“Fish and chips?” she tries again. “God save the queen and her cute little corgis?” She sidles up real close and leans into him, “Fancy a shag?”

The proposition is tempting, but only if she cuts it out with that awful accent.


	72. Out Cold

When he comes to, he’s staring at the metal ceiling of the quinjet. Also he’s pretty sure his head is about to explode.

“What the hell happened?” he asks whoever is nearby.

The surface under him jerks, and that’s when he realizes his head is cradles in someone’s lap.

Skye leans over him, “You got knocked out.”

“And then what?,” he asks. He’s been knocked out before. It doesn’t hurt his bad. “Giants stomped around on my head.”

“That’s actually pretty accurate,” Skye tells him.

“What the hell?”

“Genetically engineered goons,” she clarifies. “But they looked like giants. I’m sure if they were capable of speech it would have been ‘fee fi fo fum.’”

That makes him laugh, which then makes the pain in his head triple. He squeezes his eyes shut to block out the light.

“I’m sure when we get back to base, Jemma’ll have something to take the edge off,” Skye promises him.

Lance smirks, “In the meantime, do you think could kiss it better?”

Skye snorts, “You’re lucky I’m feeling sorry for you right now, because I’m sorely tempted to pull my legs out from under you.”

Just thinking about that makes his head spin.

“Good god, please don’t,” he gasps.


	73. Kick in the Head

“Fuck,” Lance curses loudly, pausing to rub at his forehead.

“Was that a sexy ‘oh baby keep doing that’ fuck or a ‘god no please stop’ fuck?” Skye asks.

“More of a ‘I was having a really great time until you kicked me in the head’ fuck,” he elaborates. “Maybe you should take your shoes off.”

“Foot fetish?” Skye teases him.

“More like a being able to see out of both eyes fetish,” he retorts. “Not that the hooker heels aren’t incredibly appealing.”

“They’re not hooker heels,” Skye rolls her eyes, unhooking her leg from around his shoulder so she can take the shoe off. “I was undercover as a go-go dancer in a 60′s theme club. And besides, I was only wearing them to compensate for your lack of flexibility.”

“It’s the goddamn kama sutra Skye,” Lance complains. “I’m sure you could have found something a little more doable to start off with.”

He bends forward and grabs the books off the floor, flipping backwards a few pages.

“You’re pretty doable,” Skye says suggestively.

“Clearly,” Lance says distractedly, “or we wouldn’t be naked right now.” Then he holds the book up to Skye. “I think we should try this instead.”

Skye squints at the page then shrugs, “Yeah sure why not. Do you want to lean against the wall while I climb on your shoulders, or should we start lying down and see if that’s easier?”


	74. Under the Stars

“Drop-off complete,” Lance’s voice echoes into her ear. That means it’s time for her to pack up their picnic basket so they can get back to base.

She can’t quite bring herself to do it, though. Two months back on the base, and she misses the sunshine and fresh air of Afterlife. Not that there’s any sunshine at 10PM, but the telescope and the food were a nice cover.

She misses Afterlife now, she missed her friends when she was away. Apparently there’s just no pleasing her. Too bad there’s no way to have all.

“Ready to go, then?” Lance asks, sneaking up behind her. Then he spots the unpacked telescope, the unfolded picnic blanket. “Or not.”

Skye shakes her head in hopes of clearing it, “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“It is a nice night,” he agrees. “Warm, although that’s probably just the lack of air conditioning.”

“There’s a breeze,” Skye comments. And it’s a real breeze, not the artificial one she indulges in by standing in front of an air vent after a brutal workout with May.

Lance glances at his wrist, pressing the button on his watch that makes the backlight light up so he can check the time.

“We’ve got a few minutes, you know,” he offers. “And it would be a damn shame to have to share those cookies. I hear Jemma’s a good baker.”

Skye laughs, “Oh yeah.”

Leaning over the picnic basket, Lance pulls out the plastic container of cookies, and opens the lid.

“Snickerdoodle,” he informs her. “I think we can take a moment and enjoy them before we go.”


	75. Bang

“We could always go out with a bang,” Lance suggests as Skye mentally reviews all the odds they have stacked against them.

“I’m not sure if you’re suggesting we blow ourselves up or stop to have sex while surrounded on all sides by zombified goons, but either way that’s a terrible suggestion,” Skye rolls her eyes.

The wicked gleam in Lance’s eyes sobers as he says, “I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation. Is there anything we can Macguyver into a decent weapon?”

Skye shakes her head.

She’s been in bad situations before, but this one seems pretty bleak. Not only are they trapped under water in a seriously limited air-bubble, but they’re surrounded by hundreds of mind-controlled goons with no objective but to kill.

Skye’s trying not to panic, but she’s completely at a loss.

“Makeshift explosive?” Lance suggests.

“Then we’d risk collapsing the containment field and drowning everyone, including ourselves,” Skye groans.

“Damned if we do, even more damned if we don’t,” Lance shrugs. “A slim chance is better than no chance at all.”

She doesn’t want to die. She wants to make it home to her friends, live to fight the good fight, finish christening their new apartment with bathroom and kitchen sex.

But if she’s going to go down, she’s going to take as many of these guys down with her as possible.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a lighter.

“Then let’s do this.”

Lance looks taken aback for a moment, like he was honestly expecting her to find a better alternative. She wishes there was one.

But then he takes the lighter from her hand turns towards the storage closet.

“They’ve got plenty of chemicals in there, at least some of them have to be flammable,” he tells her.

“Out with a bang it is,” Skye sighs.

He steps towards the closet, then turns back to say, “On a purely selfish note, if I’m going to drown or explode, there’s no one I’d rather be burnt to a crisp with than you.”

“That’s almost sweet,” she tells him. And it is. “Now getting going or the suspense will kill me before the water does.”


	76. Crying

“I know we’ve gotten a little reliant on takeout, but don’t you think crying is a bit much?” Skye jokes as she enters the kitchen.

“I will have you know that I have survived dust storms,” Lance says through gritted teeth as he wipes at his eyes with his wrist, the knife in his hands looming dangerously close to his face.

“But throw a few onions your way and suddenly your a big old cry baby,” Skye crosses the room. Gently, she pulls the knife from his grasp and replaces it with a tissue from the box on the counter.

“I’m glad someone’s enjoying this,” Lance mutters.

He’s certainly not. Not only is dicing onions making his eyes tear up, he now has a small cut on his index finger from the peppers he already chopped up.

Of course his first thought upon doing that is that Izzy would never let him live down such a ridiculous knife injury. Izzy probably would have had a few choice comments about the apron he was currently wearing, too.

(That line of thought had lead to five minutes of that awkward, not sure whether to cry or laugh feeling. He was happy to have pulled himself together before Skye got home).

“Oh I’m definitely enjoying this,” Skye leans over him from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist and standing on tip toes to whisper in his ear, “Although I’d enjoy it a little more if you were only wearing the apron.”

“I can work with that,” Lance tells hers, spinning around so he’s facing her. His eyes are still a bit teary, but he doesn’t even notice that as she reaches for the button on his jeans.


	77. Overheard

Living in a base full of spies means that, to a certain degree, Skye has gotten used to living with secrets.

But when she overhears Fitz saying, “It’s just a bloody ring, calm down,” followed by the sounds of her boyfriend, Lance, shushing him, she can’t help but be a little curious.

(A little curious, as far as Skye is concerned, means lurking outside the kitchen doorway, just out of sight. A lot curious would have involved sound equipment and climbing into the base’s air ducts.)

“It’s not just a ring, it’s a ‘please marry me even though we both know you can probably do better,’ ring. It needs to be appropriate,” Lance says.

Skye stifles a laugh. It’s sweet that he thinks she’s out of his league, but they’ve been together two years, she can’t believe he’s this anxious about a ring.

“Then ask Jemma about it,” Fitz tells him. “Women’s jewelry isn’t really my area of expertise.”

“Yes, but if I tell Simmons, then she’ll tell Skye,” Lance explains. “And this is supposed to be a surprise.”

“I don’t know how much of a surprise it is,” Fitz says, and Skye can picture him rolling his eyes at Lance. “Jemma was pretty convinced you’d propose on Valentines Day.”

That was a month ago, Skye’s just glad she didn’t let her friend get her hopes up. The giant chocolate gun would have been a letdown if she had.

“Seriously?” Lance asks. “No, forget it. Just tell me if you think she’ll like this.”

There’s a pause, which Skye assumes involves Lance opening a little velvet box.

“Sure,” is all Fitz says in response.

Lance lets out a sigh so exasperated that Skye has to abandon her spying to laugh over it.

Regardless, she’s heard the important part. She really couldn’t care less about what the ring looks like, and she now has a strong urge to go to talk to Jemma about this development.


	78. Don't Cry (platonic)

“Please don’t cry,” Skye whispers to herself, as she pats awkwardly at Lance’s back.

He pulls away abruptly to glare at her, “I’m not going to cry.”

Oops. He wasn’t supposed to hear that.

“Well there was that one time,” she reminds him, hoping her tone brings some sort of levity to the situation.

“She ended things two days before our anniversary trip to St. Lucia,” he defends himself. “I was crying over the money I wasted on the plane ticket.”

“As I recall, we had a very good time in St. Lucia,” she says. Taking Bobbi’s ticket had been a good call. She’d needed a little fun in the sun, and she’d gotten just that. “We even got a free meal out of that fake ring you bought.”

“I was seriously concerned you were going to reject my fake proposal,” Lance jokes, his mood brightening a bit. “I don’t think I could have handled the shame of it.”

“Well who could say no to such a large piece of cubic zirconia,” Skye grins. “And you and Bobbi got back together like two days after we got back.” Lance’s face droops again and Skye wishes she could take her words back. “Which will probably happen again this time.”

“Maybe,” is all Lance says in return.

“You’ve broken up and gotten back together how many times in the last three years?” Skye rolls her eyes.

If she was riding the roller coaster that is Lance and Bobbi, she would have gotten off a long time ago. But she’s tried telling him that before, and he never listens. It’s easier just to be there when he needs her and keep her mouth shut the rest of the time.

“Eight,” he admits. “Nine, if you count that time last June at my sister’s wedding. But we had sex like thirty seconds after it happened, so I don’t think it counts.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll make it an even ten,” she promises him.


	79. Through Your Teeth

“Yes, I would absolutely love to go to your sister’s wedding with you,” Skye says.

It’s a lie. She hates weddings; they’re so boring. And yeah, Jemma’s nice, but she’s the only person other than Lance that Skye will know there.

But Skye’s dad is putting pressure on her to bring the new boyfriend home for Thanksgiving, and she knows how awkward that’s going to be. So really, being his plus one for a day is probably getting off easy.

“Alright, now say it more like you mean it,” Lance tells her, “and less like I invited you to the dentist’s office for a root canal.”

“I mean it,” Skye insists more forcefully. Now he’s insulted her well-honed ability to lie, so the stakes are high.

Lance presses a kiss to her cheek, “Better.”

“It’s not you, it’s weddings,” Skye insists. “I’m not a fan, but for you I think I can make an exception.”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this,” Lance tells her. He actually sounds like he means it.

“Do your parents still think you made me up?” Skye asks.

He nods, “They think I paid Jemma to lie about your existence. They’ve never met you, but they think you’re too far out of my league to be real.”

Skye hisses, “Ouch. I mean, they’re right, but still… ouch.”

“Which is why, for your sake and for mine, I’m glad Jemma splurged for the open bar,” Lance admits.

“Open bar? Okay, now I’d definitely love to be your date.”


	80. Whine

“Shit, that stings,” Lance hisses, pulling his face out of Skye’s grasp

“That’s how you know it’s working,” she informed him. She leans farther forward to dab at the his wounds again, ignoring the fact that she just told him the exact same thing Jemma said to her when she was in a similar position two months ago. “You know, for a former military badass, you’re whining over a really small wound.”

He pulls out of her reach again, because she has the gauze held up to his lips, and he will not allow her to insult him like that without the opportunity to defend himself.

“Okay first of all,” he holds up one finger, “I do not whine. I moan, groan, grumble, complain, and voice my frustrations in a number of other many fashions, but I do not whine.”

Skye doesn’t bother to hold back her snort. He should know how ridiculous she finds him right now.

“In this case, I cursed,” he continues. “Hence the word ‘shit.’ Everyone knows cursing makes it hurt less.”

“Sure,” Skye tells him, looking at him out of the corner of her eye in a way that makes it clear she thinks shit is something he’s full off.

“You can ask Simmons,” he tells her. “She cut herself on some glass last week. I’d never of guessed, but she has a mouth like a sailor. She explained to me. Way too many big words involved, but it’s true.”

Having decided that he’s said enough, Skye pour disinfectant over a new gauze pad, and gets back to work.

“You know, if you could just keep your mouth shut, we wouldn’t have gotten into this situation in the first place,” Skye reminds him.

She’s got his face firmly in his grasp, and the gauze pressed a little too hard over his split lip. He can’t say a thing.

But he can glare, and he does. Because yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have gotten into an argument with a man who brings two bodyguards to a bar, but she’s the one who threw the first punch.

“He deserved it,” she says, knowing exactly what the look he’s giving her means. “And we’re fine. A few bumps and bruises,” she taps on his swollen jaw for emphasis, “and an unnecessarily large tip to the lucky bartender because we couldn’t wait for change, but other than that we’re fine.”

She does have a point. As far as bar fights go, and he’s been in more than his fair share of those, this was pretty tame. And the other guys looked much worse than they do.

“All good,” Skye says after she’s thoroughly cleaned off the rest of his face. Now you do me.” He grins wickedly and she adds, “Not like that.”

“But I thought you liked it like that,” he says, in a tone that comes suspiciously close to whine.

He gets up and gestures for her to take his place under one of the infirmary’s bright lights.

“Now when I’ve got dried blood on my cheek,” she tells him plainly.

Honestly, though, he finds the blood kind of sexy.


	81. Matching Costumes

“What’s taking you so long?” Skye calls innocently from the hallway. 

She’s already finished loading the car and if they don’t leave soon, Jemma’s going to be pissed that all her liquor isn’t showing up on time.

“I refuse,” Lance yells from behind the bathroom door.

Skye bits back a laugh and says, “You promised.”

The bathroom door opens just enough for Lance to stick his head out.

“This is not the costume I agreed to,” he snaps.

“Technically, all did was agree to Tarzan and Jane,” Skye shrugs.

“The costume you showed me covered my body,” he argues. “This is underwear.”

“I assure you, I paid good money for that underwear,” Skye reminds him. How a tiny scrap of fabric like that costs forty bucks is the biggest mystery of Halloween. “Now lets get going.”

With that, she tugs open the bathroom door, grabs him by the arm and pulls him out the door.

It took her a long time to track down a Tarzan costume that only consisted of flesh colored underwear and a cheetah print flap over the crotch. She intended to enjoy it for as much of the night as possible.

She also intended the blackmail him with the photographic evidence for the rest of their lives.


	82. Drums

“Is there any particular reason you can’t seem to look me in the eye,” Lance asks, “or is it just my general existence that offends you?”

Jemma tries to look at him, but she can’t do it without blushing.

Lance’s brows furrow in concern.

“What? No snide remark?” he says. “No cutting comment.”

He’s persistent, she’ll give him that.

“Who needs a cutting comment, when I have a working camera phone?” she counters.

She was trying for polite, but as often happens with her big brother, he just got too annoying.

“Did I take my clothes off again?” he asks, not embarrassed at all.

Jemma supposes she’s horrified enough for the both of them.

“And then Skye air drummed on your ass to Pour Some Sugar on Me,” she informs him.

His grin is wicked and, not for the first time, Jemma wonders why, out of all the women in the world, Lance has to be smirking like that over her best friend.

It’s disgusting. She wanted them to like each other, not make out in front of her.


	83. Fight

“I can’t even look at you, you promised not to get into any more fights,” Dasiy deliberately turns away when Lance walks into the room.

“It was just a bit of fun,” he tells her. “We were blowing off some steam.”

“You fractured Fitz’s wrist,” she growls.

“He should’ve said uncle,” Lance tries to excuse himself. “He’s a grown man, he knows how the game works.”

“He’s a scientist who needs his hands to work,” Daisy says. “And you thought arm wrestling would be a good idea?”

“I thought arm wrestling would be an easy win,” he tells her. “He put up more of a fight than I expected.”

Daisy sighs in frustration, then tells him, “Well the good news, is I talk to Coulson and we’ve figured out a way to deal with all this.”

Lance looks worried, “Why do I get the feeling I won’t like your solution.”

“Because you’re going to be in the lab, acting as his hands until he gets better,” Daisy smiles brightly as she delivers the news.

The look of horror on his face does not disappoint.

“Jemma says he’ll be out of commission for a while,” she adds.


	84. Snuggling Under Blankets

Skye has to suppress a yelp when Lance’s feet tap against hers under the blanket.

“Your feet are freezing,” she tells him.

That just makes him prod at her shins again.

“I have a vitamin D deficiency; my extremities run cold during the winter,” he half explains, half whines.

Skye snorts.

This time he digs a foot into her thigh.

As payback, Skye rolls to the other side of the couch, taking the blanket with her until she’s wrapped up in it like a burrito.

Unsurprisingly, Lance pouts at her.

“Come on,” he says. “I’m a human icicle here.”

“Not until you put socks on,” Skye tells him.

She’s not sitting through an entire movie with his icicle feet poking against her.

He glares. She glares back. Like he’s ever won a stare-off.

After a good five seconds, Lance sighs and deflates. Then he pulls himself back up and stomps off to his room.

He emerges a few minutes later, clad in thick woolen socks, a pair of slippers that look like something someone’s grandpa would own, and an obnoxiously bright turquoise bathroom.

“I don’t need your blanket,” he tells her, settling in firmly on the opposite side of the couch.

Five minutes later he’s shedding the bathrobe and tugging on a corner of her blanket.


	85. Menstruation

“What if I just got you a nice chocolate bar instead?” Lance says into the phone, extra quietly so no on else can hear him. “That’s supposed to help with the, you know…”

“The cramps?” Skye says in disbelief. What kind of grown man can’t say the word cramps. “Chocolate is nice, but midol is better.”

“Yeah, but the cashier…” Lance trails off. It’s like the man is incapable of uttering completely thoughts in the face of menstruation.

“Has probably seen much weirder shit,” she replies, starting to get really annoyed. “And he’s probably a lot more pleasant to deal with than your girlfriend when she’s in pain.”

Lance is quiet for a moment, like he’s consider the fact that her argument makes complete and utter sense. Of course it does.

“Do you need the name brand or is the generic fine?” he acquiesces eventually.

“Whatever’s cheaper,” Skye tells him. “And a king size chocolate bar to make me feel better after talking you through your own stupidity.”

It had better not have nuts in it. Nuts are healthy. Period time requires the junkiest of junk foods.


End file.
